


You Can’t Win Because You Don’t Really Want To

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, First Kiss, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), M/M, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Pining, Underage Drinking, Warlock Dowling cameo, and falling in loooooove, because I'm in love with this weird ship, college students making poor decisions, lot of relationship tags but let's be honest they're all background for Bee and Gabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: “Gabriel, right?”“That’s my name.”“You’ve been checking me out?”He spread his arms and offered a disarming smile. “I guess you could say that.”“I just did.” BL nodded decisively. “All right. You may continue.”--BL is an art major with an aesthetic somewhere between blasphemy and nausea. Gabriel's a history student with his sights set on law school. After their freshman flirtation turned sour, they went on to find leadership roles in ratherdifferentliving situations. Now they're facing off over the opportunity to develop Tadfield House for student use: art studios or a new library? Meanwhile, a new member of BL's circle has fallen for a boy on Gabriel's hall . . .





	1. Like We're Going to War

**Author's Note:**

> I was like "oh, college AUs are super fun, I could write a scene or two" and then well. It turned into a whole thing.
> 
> They're at a university in the States because that's what I know best, and I didn't want to embarrass myself too much.

BL glared at the door to the Dean’s office. They would never admit to being nervous, but why not take a few deep breaths before knocking? It had been two years since their last meeting with the Dean, when they’d been summoned here as a freshman after breaking nearly every rule in the dorms and releasing maggots in the hall kitchen for an art project. The photographs had come out beautifully, but the Dean turned out to have _no_ sense of aesthetics. She’d kicked BL out of campus housing and sentenced them to an ungodly number of community service hours.

Those hours still sat unserved on their student record, since BL’s idea of “community service” had been to move into the notorious off-campus house known as the Den of Iniquity and ensure that every party they hosted was more debaucherous than the one before.

Fortunately for BL’s academic future, at least one art professor had appreciated the creativity and talent behind their “Spontaneous Generation” project. Professor Lucier hung one of BL’s photos outside his office, invited them to an advanced symposium, and found them studio space even though the art department was so cramped that studios were usually reserved for upperclassmen.

With Lucier’s help, BL had hoped to make it all the way through graduation without ever again encountering the Dean. But that plan was scuttled at the beginning of their junior year by the announcement that Tadfield House was finally going to be renovated for student use, and the Dean welcomed proposals for exactly what to do with it.

Never let it be said that BL didn’t serve their community. Recalling their own good fortune in acquiring studio space as a freshman, and full of sympathy for the incoming crop of art students, they immediately fired off a proposal to convert the empty old building into studios. Then they sent daily follow-up e-mails, making an absolute pest of themselves until the Dean finally agreed to a meeting.

So. Here they were. BL tugged their red sash into a more casual position, shook back their artistically uneven black hair, took one more deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” sounded the Dean’s pleasant voice.

She sat behind her desk, looking as elegant and ageless as BL remembered, swan-white hair swept back from her smooth face, almost-invisible rimless glasses resting on her nose. She smiled at BL as though she’d forgotten the circumstances of their last meeting, which was unnerving enough that BL slid into a chair before noticing the other person in the room.

“Uh. Gabriel?”

BL would have been hard pressed to think of anyone they wanted to see less at that moment. Not that Gabriel was unpleasant to look at. In fact, that was part of the problem. He was tall and pretty, clean-cut and well-dressed, and because they’d lived in the same freshman dorm and they’d seen him walking to and from the shower, they knew that a small cross hung from the thin gold chain that disappeared behind his collar. He was exactly as sanctimonious as he looked, which was the rest of the problem. Gabriel had been the one to file a complaint about BL’s behavior.

Then, instead of ignoring them for the rest of their time at university like any reasonable person would do, he went on to look offensively happy to see BL whenever their paths crossed. He was doing it right now, eyes crinkling in pleasure as he exclaimed, “Bee, this is a surprise! What are you—”

“I have a meeting,” they bit out.

Gabriel ignored their antipathy. “That’s funny! I have a meeting, too.”

BL turned accusingly to the Dean. “You double-booked us.”

“It seemed more efficient this way,” she said, wholly unapologetic. “You see, your two proposals for Tadfield House are by far the most compelling that we’ve received. You each provided detailed plans and gathered an impressive number of student signatures, and your letters of faculty support are positively glowing.” She grimaced slightly, reminding BL that Professor Lucier and the Dean were not on the best of terms. BL wondered who had written Gabriel’s letter. He was an RA now and a golden child of the university; surely any professor would have been delighted to gush over his proposal.

“So, what then?” asked BL, trying not to sound as combative as they felt. “Are we meant to take turns trying to convince you? I’m not some silver-tongued _lawyer_.” They glowered at Gabriel, who had the decency to turn pink.

“I’m not a lawyer yet, Bee. What on earth do you want the building for, anyway? It’s obviously meant to be a library.”

“That’s stupid; this campus is lousy with libraries.” BL was pleased to see Gabriel frowning now; that was much easier to handle than his smile. “Meanwhile the art department has to shove five or six students in each studio, and that’s just upperclassmen. We need more space.”

Gabriel scoffed. “What do you even use studios for? The whole campus is your studio. Every time I turn around there’s a new mural going up, or some weird performance art in the quad.” He didn’t say _or maggots in the hall kitchen_, but BL’s photographs seemed to ghost through the room.

BL's fists clenched on their thighs. “I didn’t know you ever looked up from your books long enough to—”

“Down, you two.” The Dean took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I thought you might come up with a good plan together, but I see that was too much to hope for. I suppose we could leave Tadfield House empty until you graduate—”

“No!” exclaimed BL and Gabriel at the same time.

“Then _talk to each other_,” the Dean said, enunciating each word. When they both opened their mouths, she raised her hand. “Not here, _please_. Come back if and when you have a plan.”

Her stare became so severe that both students stood up rather quickly. Gabriel pasted his smile back on and said, “Will do!” before crowding BL out into the hall. BL slammed the door shut, and Gabriel let out a sigh.

They were standing so close that BL could feel his breath as well as hear it. Their gaze was caught by the rise and fall of his chest. The scent of his lavender cologne seeped into their nostrils, and that was just one sensory assault too many. Snarling something unintelligible, they stomped off down the hall.

“Want to go out for coffee?” Gabriel kept pace with them easily, long legs swinging. “You know, so we can talk?”

They glanced at him suspiciously. “You drink coffee now?”

“Well, no.” He looked almost shyly pleased, like he was surprised BL had remembered that. As if they’d ever forget how damn _wholesome_ he was. “But I could have an herbal tea.”

They’d reached the end of the hall. Gabriel's arm stretched over BL’s head to push open one of the double doors, and they stepped out into a gray autumn day. The clouds hung low, too lazy to rain, and an indecisive breeze hurried the leaves from one side of the path to the other.

The cool air made BL’s face itch. They scratched, looked at their nails, and saw flecks of green and blue. Shit, had there really been paint on their cheek for the whole meeting? They wouldn’t expect the Dean to mention it, but Gabriel could have said something.

“Tea and coffee, then?” he asked, oblivious.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” snapped BL. “Turning Tadfield House into a library is beyond ridiculous. I’m going to look at a map, and add up all the square footage of the existing libraries to show—”

“Libraries aren’t all the _same_, Bee. The giant science and engineering library on the other side of campus doesn’t do the humanities much good, does it? The history library is so tiny it doesn’t even have a Middle East _section_. We have all these amazing texts, originals and translations, just sitting in boxes because there’s nowhere to put them.”

“More dusty old books written by dead guys, just what the world needs.” BL rolled their eyes. “Meanwhile, in the art department we’re trying to make something new, something _relevant_, and we have nowhere to do it.”

“You’re just as impossible as ever, Bee.”

BL was absolutely done talking with Gabriel about Tadfield House. They wanted to report back to Lucier and come up with a new strategy. They also wanted to race to their studio and work out some frustration by tearing the wings off the box of dead flies they'd collected from the biology department.

Luckily Gabriel was nothing if not easy to distract. “You know you’re the only person on this whole campus who can’t be bothered to say both my initials?”

“I thought you liked it,” he said, smiling again. “You’ve never told me to stop.”

“You’ve never told me to stop inviting your freshmen to Den parties,” BL pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t like that.”

The smile dimmed. “Actually, I have told you to stop. Several times.”

“Oh, I must’ve missed that.” In fact, BL remembered quite clearly how cross Gabriel had been after half his students had bailed on “Board Game Bonding Night!!!” to play beer pong and get high at the Den of Iniquity instead. “Anyway, I’m not the only corrupting influence. Anthony’s decided to lay siege to that sweet little blonde on your hall.”

“I’m well aware,” said Gabriel through gritted teeth. “But Ezra’s too smart to fall for a kid who stole marijuana from the campus garden on his first day of college. And then tried to deal it.”

“I’m told Anthony can be quite charming.”

“Charming or not, he’s an idiot.” Gabriel sighed. “Honestly, I was surprised a freshman even knew the garden had . . .”

He trailed off, looking at BL. They didn’t say anything, didn’t even smile, just met Gabriel’s eyes with a slight tilt of their head. It was enough. He groaned. “Bee! _You_ told him about the pot?”

“Well, what else could I do?” Their lips twitched into a smile. “First day, he shows up to the art mixer in his pretentious sunglasses, swaggering around, practically begging for trouble. So I offered him some. He’s the one who was clumsy enough to get caught—it’s not like I turned him in.”

BL hadn’t planned to speak that last bit aloud, hadn’t meant to leak so much bitter hurt into their voice. They pressed their lips together and looked away, watching the wind strip the last leaves from the sycamores.

For a long quiet moment, neither spoke. Then Gabriel cleared his throat, and BL was sure he was going to explain himself, _again_, and if he started in with that patronizing tone of voice they were definitely going to hit him. So they filled the silence first. “Anyway, I’ve taken Anthony under my wing now, taught him how to avoid the authorities. You don’t have to worry about him getting your little angel in trouble.”

“I don’t have to worry, because Ezra won’t get involved with him in the first place.” Gabriel sounded stiff.

“Keep dreaming, sunshine,” said BL with a hint of smugness. “If Anthony is half as determined to get that kid as I am to get Tadfield House, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Maroon 5's One More Night, which has very Ineffable Bureaucracy energy.


	2. Everybody Play the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying out an omniscient POV for this part of the story...
> 
> I added a couple of sentences to Chapter 1, since BL was supposed to have paint on their face for the whole meeting but I'd forgotten to mention it. Oops.

Winter quarter got off to a bleak start. Heavy rains left puddles that iced overnight, and early morning classes inspired double the usual dread. But in late January the sun came out, made short work of the icy puddles, and then, seeming rather pleased with itself, stayed. All over campus, students fretted about climate change while they peeled off layers and basked.

On a grassy hill somewhere between the history and art buildings, the university’s most talented basker was currently soaking up every photon of winter sunshine. His eyes were closed behind expensive sunglasses, and his long limbs sprawled in a pose of such perfect relaxation that it came off as a deliberate insult to the runners, joggers, and cyclists that streamed past on the campus trail.

The boy’s head rested on the thigh of someone who, while clearly existing in the same patch of sunlight, could not reasonably be described as basking. He sat quite straight, his sweater neatly buttoned despite the weather, and he was reading three books at the same time—one on his lap and the other two on the grass beside him. He made careful notes in two different notebooks and, occasionally, his hand drifted to stroke his companion’s hair.

When an absent-minded scratch to the scalp caused the basker to push his head farther into the reader’s lap, displacing a notebook, he clicked his tongue. “Don’t you have any work to do, Anthony?”

Several ambiguous, drowsy sounds were followed by the statement, “’m designing a new conceptual piece. In m’head.”

Just then, a couple of joggers stepped off the path to stretch at the base of the hill. The taller one glanced up at the two boys and called, “Hey, Ezra!”

The reader looked back, and waved. “Hi, Gabriel.”

With a few long strides, the jogger joined them on top of the hill, leaving his companion to work on her quads. “We missed you in section yesterday.”

“I was sorry to miss it,” said Ezra earnestly. “I, ah, well, something came up at the last minute.” A muffled noise came from the head in his lap, and Ezra quelled it with a firm hand. “I did speak to the professor—”

“Good, that’s great,” interrupted Gabriel. “How’s the inventory for the new library coming along?”

“Oh, I’ve made a bit of progress. The Dean hasn’t given us a deadline, has she?”

“Not yet.” In fact, since their meeting back in November, Gabriel hadn’t been able to get a single response from her. Not for lack of trying—every week he would send an updated list of books and journals that could move into the stacks, cross-referenced with which courses and majors would benefit. The Dean was an historian herself, and everyone knew she’d fallen out with Professor Lucier, so surely Gabriel’s proposal was destined to be chosen. It hadn’t yet occurred to him that BL was also sending messages to the Dean, and the Dean was perfectly content to ignore both of them for as long as it took.

“You know how busy she is,” he told Ezra, with an almost aggressive level of good cheer. “She may be waiting until we’ve got every shelf mapped out. So, best for us to carry on!”

“Gabriel, I want to finish the loop _today_!” called the jogger from the base of the hill. “Are you coming or not?”

“On my way, Mikki,” he called back, then gave Ezra a double thumbs-up. “See you on the hall! You can pull the inventory together by the end of the week, right?”

“I suppose so,” said Ezra.

Anthony peeled up from a complete bask into a semi-reclined lounge just so he could glare after Gabriel as the older student jogged away. “I don’t know why you let him boss you around like that.”

Ezra had already turned back to his books. “I suppose for the same reason you’re always trying to impress BL.”

“I don’t—I’m not—” Anthony sputtered. He hadn’t expected a counterattack. He turned his glare on Ezra. “You had that waiting in your pocket.”

“It’s possible I anticipated this conversation.” Ezra chuckled. “You make these little irritated noises every time you see Gabriel. And he hasn’t been very fond of you, either, since you started courting me.”

“Courting?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “What are we, in a Jane Austen novel? _Courting._ I was hitting on you.”

Ezra pressed his lips together in disapproval. “I have never understood that expression. There’s no hitting involved.”

“Fine, but whatever I did you get you here—” Anthony made a sweeping gesture to encompass the two of them in the sun on the hill— “I don’t see how it’s any of Gabriel’s business. And I don’t like the way he treats you, like you work for him or something.”

Ezra shrugged. “He is my RA. And he’s the one who got me into the Avestan translation group. No harm in staying on his good side.”

“Hmph,” said Anthony, settling back down with his head in Ezra’s lap.

Ezra pet his hair. “And there’s no need to be jealous. He has a girlfriend, and besides, he’s not my type at all.”

“Not jealous. Don’t be stupid.”

But he kept grumbling and fussing until Ezra finally set down his pencil and asked, “All right, my dear, what’s bothering you?”

“Why do you think I’m trying to impress BL?” he blurted out.

Ezra tried not to laugh. “They are the Bitch Lord of the art department, aren’t they?”

Anthony blinked, surprised as always to hear any profanity whatsoever from Ezra’s lips. “That’s not what BL stands for.”

“You told me it was,” said Ezra.

“I told you that’s what people _say_. Not that it’s true.”

Quite a few people said it, including a professor or two, though never to BL’s face. After all, they’d won every art award or scholarship they were eligible for, and a few they weren’t. Their attitude was as legendary as the quality of their work.

“In any case, I’m sure that you do impress them.” Ezra dug his fingers a little harder into Anthony’s scalp, soothing away the tension. “Your art is simply breathtaking.”

Anthony shifted, uncomfortable as always with praise. “You know BL hates Gabriel? I bet they’d be really impressed if I did something awful to him.”

He expected Ezra to scold him for the suggestion, but instead the boy let out a giggle. “I’m not sure ‘hate’ is the word you’re looking for.”

Anthony squinted up through his sunglasses. “Excuse me?”

“Please. I may be a bit naive, Anthony, but I have the ability to notice things.”

“I don’t—I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anthony paused, reading the impish expression on the other’s face. “Okay, I get it. You’re implying that BL is, like, they have—shit, how do we say this now that we’re grown up? Oh, fuck it. You think BL has a crush on Gabriel?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Anthony scoffed, a sound of pure incredulity.

Ezra shrugged and turned a page. “Well, why don’t you ask them, next time you’re feeling brave?”

“I’ll have you know I’m always brave, angel.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Epitome of braveness. Bravery. That’s me.”

“Yes, dear, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezra is studying Avestan because of his interest in Zoroastrianism. He's probably going to do a comparative thesis on the Avesta and the Vedas, that nerd. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avestan
> 
> The next chapter's almost done, should be up in another day or two.


	3. The Middle of My Frustrated Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd the rating has gone up! Near the end of this chapter there's some not-too-graphic sex and (unrelated to that) a brief portrayal of alcohol poisoning.
> 
> Chapter title from Pink's Just Like a Pill.

“I’m a complete and utter coward.” The announcement came from behind a canvas so large it obscured the speaker, but Anthony’s defiant brand of self-deprecation was easy to recognize.

Ezra, wisely, said nothing. He was tucked into the small couch jammed into a corner of Studio 666 (yes) and he knew he was fortunate to be there at all. BL probably would have kicked him out, but the history student with his cup of cocoa and tidy notebooks looked so hilariously incongruous that instead they had decided to snap some photos before returning to their arrangement of fly wings.

“So grow a pair and put in an application, Anthony. It’s not like they’re going to break your knees if you don’t get it.” That was Mefi, the senior who had graciously allowed Anthony to borrow her easel space in the studio as he scrambled to finish an over-ambitious painting.

“You saw some of the garbage they’ve supported before, right? Your stuff is way better.” Levi was speaking now, always glad to build you up if he could tear someone else down. “Like your Scenic Route virus. That was a stroke of genius.”

Anthony was mixing colors with intense concentration. “So if I apply and I _don’t_ get the fellowship, I might have to break my own knees.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” objected Mefi. “Why are you being so dramatic about this?”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he protested.

“You are, a little bit,” murmured Ezra. Anthony scowled at him.

“You have to apply,” said Mefi. “BL, tell him he has to apply.”

The room fell silent, except for the buzzing of overhead lights. Although BL usually kept tabs on the studio conversation, they rarely joined in. Mefi’s request was almost unprecedented. The other students in the room held their breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Carefully BL set down their work, got up, and walked the two small steps that it took to stand next to Anthony. They cast a critical eye over his canvas. It held a night sky thick with strange stars and smeared with nebulae—a view toward the sun from a hypothetical planet orbiting Alpha Centauri.

Anthony hovered at their side, all nervous energy. “I can apply next year.”

“Yes,” agreed BL. “After you apply this year.” They turned and stared at him until he nodded.

“Okay, I will,” he said. “Thanks.”

“And put on some music,” added BL, returning to their table.

Through a combination of multi-genre familiarity and technological competence, Anthony had become the default music guy. He checked the speakers, pulled out his phone, and was about to start a new playlist when a brisk knock cracked open the studio door.

Gabriel peeked through. He may have been optimistic to a fault, but even he was aware that the inhabitants of Studio 666 might not welcome his presence. “Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“What do you want?” growled BL.

“I’m looking for Ezra,” said Gabriel, edging through the door until he could see the couch and its occupant, cocoa paused halfway to his mouth. “Sandy says you walked off with the phrase dictionary?”

“Oh my goodness, perhaps I did! I’m terribly sorry.” Ezra carefully set down his mug on the floor and reached for his backpack. “Let me see if I can find it.”

Somehow, Gabriel managed to fit his entire body inside the studio. He rotated in place to look at BL’s table, unable to resist his curiosity, and his breath came in a gasp when he saw the completed work at their elbow.

“Please tell me if it offends you,” said BL caustically. “That’s what I’m going for.”

“Not at all, it’s exquisite!” exclaimed Gabriel. Hundreds of tiny fly wings had been colored and arranged to create a miniature replica of the Blue Virgin stained glass window from Chartres Cathedral. He bent at the knees to get a better view. “Almost sublime.”

BL sat back on their stool and stared at Gabriel staring at their art. It felt far too personal to have him here in the studio, seeing not only a finished piece but also—

“What are you working on next?” Gabriel’s eyes had turned to the materials laid out in front of BL.

“Dunno yet.”

“More stained glass?”

“Maybe.”

Though BL wasn’t giving him much to work with, the enthusiasm of Gabriel’s history brain was irrepressible. “What about the windows in the Sultan Ahmed Mosque? The Blue Mosque.”

“I see what you’re doing there.” BL snorted. “Trying to divert my blasphemy from Christianity over to Islam?”

“What? No!” He looked shocked. “There’s beauty in every place of worship. All worthy of celebration.”

_Are you for real?_ BL thought, not for the first time since meeting Gabriel. _Can anyone be that idiotically genuine?_

“I’ll send you some photos of the mosque,” Gabriel was saying. “And there’s an amazing Persian stained glass cookbook from the 8th century you should check out. We’ll have a copy in the Tadfield House library.”

And _there_ were the claws. BL leaned over the table and bared their teeth. “You’ve got some balls, Gabriel, to come in here and talk like we’re not going to turn that house into studio space.”

Gabriel swallowed. He’d meant it as a playful poke, maybe an overture to actually talking about their plans like the Dean wanted them to do. But he’d forgotten everyone else in the room, as he tended to do whenever BL was present. Glancing around, he saw Mefi, Levi, and Anthony all glaring at him with nearly as much hostility as BL.

Ezra, at least, had located the phrase book. He held it out apologetically. Gabriel took it and commented, “It is a bit crowded in here. Come on, Ezra, let’s give the artists some space.”

“He’s fine,” interrupted BL, to everyone’s surprise. “He’s small. You’re not. Get your big stupid head out of here, Gabriel, before something happens to those nice clothes.”

Taking the cue, Anthony lifted his paintbrush. Gabriel did not feel especially threatened by this, but he had the book he’d come for and it was time to cut his losses. He left, with one last glance at BL.

“Music,” BL snarled, so Anthony quickly set down the brush and tapped at his phone. “Louder,” insisted BL, so he cranked it up.

Ezra nestled back into the couch with an extremely smug smile. Anthony caught his eye and gave him a puzzled look. Ezra lifted one subtle finger to point at BL, then out the door. Then he crossed the finger over his thumb to make a heart.

Anthony nodded, conceding the point. The tension between BL and Gabriel had certainly been something to witness. It was lucky that Ezra had . . . Oh.

Anthony leaned over the back of the sofa and put his mouth next to Ezra’s ear, whispering under the music, “You brought that book here on purpose.”

Ezra smiled, and sipped his cocoa.

“You are a bastard and I love you.” Anthony left a hot kiss just below the ear, and went back to his painting.

Meanwhile, BL had turned on their tablet to pore over photos of the Blue Mosque. Its windows really were extraordinary. The shapes, the colors. They’d need to experiment with yellow, something they’d avoided for the Virgin. They grabbed a notebook and started to sketch.

It was long after dark when BL’s phone buzzed with a string of messages.

**Leger:** when r u coming home

**Leger:** can u bring more booze

**Leger:** its Hass bday

**BL:** i know

**BL:** i left tequila in the kitchen for you guys

**Leger:** yeah thanks it was good

**BL:** wtf

**Leger:** more booze pleeeeeez

**Leger:** well owe you

**BL:** damn straight you will

**BL:** assholes

Since BL had turned 21 over winter break, they’d been buying most of the Den’s alcohol. (They’d been buying a decent percentage of it before, as they had the best fake ID, but now it was _expected_.) Well, they didn’t want to stay in the studio all night anyway. And it _was_ Hass’ birthday. 

Mefi and Levi had already left, but Anthony was still painting and Ezra was still reading. BL got up, sliding both tablet and notebook into their bag. “I’m headed home, by way of the liquor store. Anthony, pick up some snacks, will you?”

Without waiting for an answer, BL shouldered the bag and walked out the door. Their mind, having left its intense focus on sketching shapes of cut glass and tesselating fly wings, kept drifting stubbornly to thoughts of Gabriel. His expression of wonder when he looked at their art and his frank words of praise had been so unexpected—yet somehow, not at all surprising.

It had been weird to see Gabriel in the studio. The weirdest part was that BL didn’t hate it. In fact, they had wanted to wedge him into the couch next to Ezra and make him stay all day. This realization was so distracting that they accidentally used their fake ID to buy the alcohol, but the checker did not notice or care.

Arriving at the Den offered BL a welcome diversion from their thoughts. The living room was warm and dark and crowded. A loose circle of inebriated inhabitants and friends sat on the rug with a deck of cards, trying to play several different games at once. Hass was ensconced in the armchair, smoking a joint and offering up the occasional non sequitur. The TV was on but the sound was off, and in pride of place over the junk-filled fireplace hung a work of illuminated calligraphy by a previous resident that read, “Don’t Lick The Wall.” Below it someone had scribbled directly on the plaster, “Lick Your Friends Instead” and, under that, someone else had slapped a “Safe, Sane and Consensual” bumper sticker.

When BL stepped inside bearing plastic bags full of bottles, Leger dropped his cards and swayed to his feet. “You brought more booze! You are a prince . . . a prince among . . .” He frowned, trying to remember the rest of the phrase.

“You owe me forty bucks and your firstborn child,” responded BL, as Leger followed them into the kitchen, drunkenly helped unpack, and began fixing new drinks. “Want me to make you something?” he asked.

“No, I’ll do it.” BL considered the array of options. Nothing looked good. They poured some vodka into a cup, just to start somewhere. Then they gave up, added some ice, and took it out to the living room.

Crossing to the armchair, BL extracted the joint from Hass and took a long drag. He looked up at them, eyes struggling to focus. “Hey! ‘S my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” said BL, handing it back. “Get out of my chair.”

He slid down to the floor. “Deal me in,” he demanded of the card-players, just as Leger emerged from the kitchen with two cups and gave Hass one.

“Here, take my hand,” said one of the other players, sliding her cards toward Hass. She stood up and moved to the arm of BL’s chair. “Tough week?”

“Not so bad,” said BL, swirling the ice in their cup. Straight vodka was nasty, even by their standards, but the more they drank the less they minded. “What about you, Dagon?”

“Shitty. I failed my ichthyology midterm,” the girl said. She trailed her hand down BL’s arm and smiled. “Distract me?”

BL looked her over without answering. Dagon’s thick hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, hung loose to frame her face. She was wearing tight jeans and some kind of high-necked corset, and it was no secret that she’d been trying to score with BL ever since they fucked that one time last spring. So far, BL hadn’t gotten drunk enough to go for it.

BL was hardly buzzed now, but God, it felt good to be wanted like that. And, well, Dagon wasn’t the only one craving distraction. BL pulled her into their lap, and she almost purred with satisfaction. “_Ohhh_, I missed the way you—”

“Why’s it so quiet?” asked BL, heading off a conversation they didn’t want to have. “Doesn’t anyone know how to play music when Anthony’s not here?”

“Hass tried to put something on, but the sound system blew a fuse.” Dagon accepted the redirection, sliding her arm philosophically around BL’s shoulders. “Where is Anthony, anyway?”

“He’s supposed to be getting snacks,” said BL. Part of them knew that physical intimacy with Dagon probably wasn’t a good idea if they couldn’t even stand to talk about it, but another part of them was busy with the pleasant sensation of running their hand over Dagon’s thigh.

“He’s probably fucking his pretty boyfriend instead,” grumbled Hass, who was desperately craving snacks and felt betrayed by their absence.

Although Hass’ crude guess was not strictly true, it was also not too far from the mark. Ezra had accompanied Anthony on the snack run, and gazed so longingly at everything in the bakery section of the supermarket that, instead of chips and salsa, Anthony found himself buying a box of assorted scones and pastries that made Ezra’s eyes light up like stars. They brought the box and a blanket to their favorite grassy hill and, well, with one thing and another Anthony never made it back to the Den.

BL was unaware of these details, but thinking of Anthony with Ezra reminded them that everyone seemed to be pairing up. Even Hass and Leger, who were so inscrutable they might be asexual lovers or fuck buddies or platonic life partners or any number of other configurations. Even _Gabriel_ had a stupid girlfriend now—BL had seen the two of them jogging and drinking tea and holding hands all over campus. Not that they were _looking_.

As if she’d read BL’s thoughts, Dagon leaned in for a kiss. What the hell, thought BL, kissing her back. Dagon kissed enthusiastically, with lots of tongue and teeth, which BL didn’t mind until she moved to their neck and started to suck and bite.

BL grabbed Dagon’s hair and yanked her head back. “Don’t,” they growled. “I’m not into that shit. Leave a mark on me and you lose your welcome here, got that?”

Dagon nodded in a hurry, but BL could tell that the hair-pulling and the threatening just turned her on more. And although it wasn’t really their thing . . . hell, it was nice to affect someone like that.

Two hours later BL was sitting on Dagon’s face after several rounds of other activities. They had moved to BL’s bedroom, because it wasn’t _that_ kind of party. Dagon had a clever tongue, and BL was enjoying themselves, but their mind kept wandering away from their partner. A particularly treacherous thought presented the image of Gabriel in Dagon’s place, and their thighs clenched involuntarily.

Gabriel probably wouldn’t be very skilled at first, BL thought. But he’d be eager to learn, and BL would teach him, touch by touch and lick by lick, exactly how to wreck them with pleasure. His long fingers would wrap around their hips, holding them in place as they tried to grind down, his tongue moving just fast enough to excite, just light enough to tease.

They moaned at the thought, which unfortunately inspired Dagon to add some teeth. “Ah!” BL jerked back. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, sorry,” mumbled Dagon, licking her lips. “I won’t do it again, please let me finish you, please.” 

BL slid forward again and closed their eyes, returning to their fantasy. Gabriel would work them with fingers and tongue until they were trembling, panting on the edge of release, and then he would lift them up so he could smile and whisper, “Oh, Bee, you look exquisite. Almost sublime.” Then he’d draw them back onto his tongue, and—

“Oh, fuck yes,” gasped BL, one hand tight in Dagon’s hair and the other braced against the headboard as they rocked through their orgasm.

Still feeling shaky, BL climbed off and slid down onto their back. Dagon snuggled up to them, looking more pleased with herself than she had a right to be (not that BL would tell her so—they weren’t a _complete_ monster).

“That was so nice,” murmured Dagon with a yawn.

“Yeah, felt good,” agreed BL. Then they dug their elbow into Dagon’s ribs. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“But you're comfy,” she whined. “And I’m tired.”

“Against the rules.” BL exerted a little more strength, and rolled Dagon right out of bed. “No one but me sleeps in here. You can crash on the couch if you want.”

Dagon pouted, and began pulling her clothes back on. “For someone who claims to be an anarchist, you have a lot of rules.”

“You knew that already.” BL put on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “I’ll come downstairs with you and get some water.”

The living room was dark except for the flickering of the TV, still playing silently. Almost everyone had gone to bed or gone home. Hass had moved back into the armchair, and he sat there staring with vague concern at Leger, who was passed out cold on the rug next to a puddle of vomit.

“Shit,” exclaimed BL, dropping down next to Leger and giving him a shake. He was breathing, but he was a rag doll, totally unresponsive. “How much did he drink? How long has he been like this?”

“A lot,” said Hass, seemingly in answer to both questions. “I turned’m on his side. So he would’n choke.”

“Gross,” said Dagon, making a face. “Poor Hass, not much of a birthday present for you, is it? Maybe he’ll get you something nicer tomorrow.”

BL ignored her and pinched Leger’s arm, hard. Nothing happened. “It’s good he didn’t choke. But if we can’t wake him up, that’s a really bad sign.”

“Wha’ should we do?” slurred Hass.

“Call 911, I guess,” said BL grimly, reaching for their phone.

“Just let him sleep it off!” laughed Dagon. “He’ll be fine in the morning.”

BL gave her a cold look. “He’s not fine now. I’m calling. Stay or fuck off, I don’t care.”

“Okay, I’m out. I don’t need to deal with flashing lights and sirens right now.” Dagon grabbed her shoes and jacket, then looked back at BL from the doorway. They had already dialed, the phone pressed to their ear.

_Call me_, mouthed Dagon.

“911, what is your emergency?”

_I won’t_, BL mouthed back, and gave her a middle finger for good measure. “Yeah, hi, I think my housemate has alcohol poisoning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The demon Leviathan's sin is Envy, but Mephistopheles is known for actually giving good advice.
> 
> Leger and Hass go by their last names because they have the same first name, Damien. Isn’t that funny.
> 
> The Blue Virgin: https://www.ancient.eu/image/9321/blue-virgin-window-chartres-cathedral/  
The Blue Mosque: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sultan_Ahmed_Mosque  
Fly wings: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/phenomena/2011/01/03/forget-butterflies-wasps-and-flies-have-hidden-rainbows-in-their-wings/


	4. There Must Have Been a Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upped the chapter count as this is getting a bit longer than I anticipated. This chapter has a bit more talk of alcohol poisoning (Leger's gonna be ok though) and some homophobic language (it gets shut down). Title's from “Something Good,” sorry but I can’t write Gabriel without referencing The Sound of Music at least once.

“Coffee delivery!” Anthony sang out as he sauntered into the Den of Iniquity with a cardboard tray of drinks. BL looked up from their stool at the kitchen counter and fixed him with a death glare, even as he extracted a triple-shot caramel latte and slid it across to them.

“You didn’t bring snacks last night,” they said accusingly. “Traitor.”

“Er, sorry about that. I knew there was still emergency popcorn, though.” Anthony plucked out his own coffee, then paused with it halfway to his mouth. “BL. What are you wearing?”

“A sweater,” said BL flatly. It was, in point of fact, a cream-colored sweater of almost miraculous softness that was several sizes too large for them.

“Is it—is it Dagon’s?”

“Does it look like fucking Dagon’s?” If Anthony had already heard that BL hooked up with her last night, he must have heard everything else too. “You know about Leger?”

“Yeah.” Anthony perched on a stool, fingers roaming over the counter until they discovered a pen. “He’s okay now, right?”

“Don’t know if I’d say, okay.” BL finally lifted their cup, and downed about a third of it. “Survived without brain damage, so that’s something.”

Anthony gave a sober nod as he doodled snakes and vines on his coffee cup. 

“He could have died,” BL bit out. This was the terror that had clawed at them all the endless antiseptic hours of the early morning. It had followed them home from the hospital, despite the nurse’s reassurances. It had driven them to excavate a guilty comfort from the back of their closet, to wrap themselves in downy fleece. “He could have died, and it would’ve been my fault.”

“Not your fault.” Anthony looked up so quickly the sunglasses slid down his nose. “You didn’t tell him to drink too much.”

“Made it available. Didn’t keep an eye on him. My fault.”

“You can’t take the blame for—”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” BL’s eyes blazed into Anthony and he shrank back. “This house is supposed to be fun. For everyone. It’s not fun if people get fucked up like that, so we have to do something.” They took a deep breath. “Make some house rules, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I can—I can get a board or something to write on?” suggested Anthony.

BL took another long drink, more contemplative this time. They hadn’t meant to tackle the project right away, but why not take advantage of Anthony’s slightly terrified enthusiasm? “Sure,” they said. “Knock on the doors and round everyone up while you’re at it.”

He flinched and opened his mouth, no doubt objecting to being used as a messenger boy. BL folded their arms and mouthed the word _Traitor_ at him again. He raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. What should I tell them?”

“We’re having a mandatory house meeting. It’s time to lay down the law so we don’t fuck ourselves up.” BL groaned. “God, I sound like fucking Gabriel.”

“You don’t,” Anthony reassured them as he stood up. “He doesn’t swear nearly that much.”

* * *

“Shit!”

“Gabriel!”

“Sorry, sorry, I just, ah! Just jabbed a tack under my thumbnail. Hurts.” Gabriel squeezed the injured digit and offered Mikki an apologetic smile.

She was gazing around the common room with raised eyebrows. “I know they make you put up flyers and stuff, but are the rainbow streamers really necessary?”

It was almost April, and Mikki had come to visit Gabriel while he was in the midst of decorating the hall for Campus Pride. She’d declined to lend a hand, settling instead in an armchair and concentrating on her phone until Gabriel’s swear had made her look up.

“The university doesn’t _make_ me put up anything,” he told her. “But I wouldn’t have applied to be an RA if I didn’t want to do stuff like this.”

“Don’t you think it might make some students uncomfortable?”

“What do you mean?” He jumped down from the stepstool and moved it under the un-streamered half of the ceiling. “I’m not outing anyone. Just showing love and support.”

“Love and support,” Mikki echoed. “That’s not . . . I mean students like us, Gabe. Christians who don’t necessarily want a bunch of alternative sexualities shoved in their face.”

Gabriel was glad he hadn’t climbed back on the stool yet, because he might have fallen off. Was that really his girlfriend talking? “My faith is about love,” he said, and he couldn’t tell if his voice was too loud or too quiet. “I thought yours was, too.”

“Of course it’s about love! Love the sinner, hate the sin, right? I mean, that’s not the same as . . .” Mikki trailed off, clearly realizing at the same time as Gabriel, _we are not on the same page about this_. “The way you bitched about Ezra and Anthony, I figured . . .”

Gabriel’s hands tightened, distorting the roll of crepe paper. He was horrified. “You thought their relationship bothered me because they’re _gay_?”

“Well yeah! Stop looking at me like that, Gabriel, it’s not like I want to lynch them or anything, okay? Let them do whatever they like, it’s just, why do the rest of us have to jump up and down and celebrate it?”

Gabriel forced himself to relax. He carefully set down the crepe paper and took a chair across from Mikki. As unexpected and disturbing as it was, he had been given a golden opportunity to educate someone he cared about. He had to get it right.

“Because we’ve been telling people to hide for hundreds of years, Mikki,” he said as gently as possible. “Even if you don’t mean it to, that kind of talk hurts people. I know you think it makes you a good Christian, but if you listen to Desmond Tutu’s comparison with apartheid—”

“Oh my God, Gabriel, never mind, okay? I didn’t mean to turn you into some kind of avenging angel.” Mikki raised her phone like a shield. “Just drop it.”

“Mikki, please.” Gabriel walked over and knelt on the floor next to her chair. “Let me show you another way of thinking. We don’t have to keep talking right now, but let me send you some stuff to read, okay?”

She put the phone in her pocket, but her eyes still skittered away from Gabriel’s. “No, thanks.”

“Then I think,” he started, and swallowed. “I think you should go.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Mikki stood up and walked to the door. Then she turned back to look at him, finally, her face twisted up in hurt and anger. “You know, you could have just told me you were gay.”

Before Gabriel could say “I’m actually not” (which he realized even at the time would have served no useful purpose) she was gone.

He stayed on the floor, leaning his head against the side of the chair and closing his eyes. So that was that. He should probably have seen it much sooner. Mikki always had a hard edge to her; it was something that he’d unfortunately found rather attractive, right up until ten minutes ago when he’d realized it was the hardness of bigotry.

“Thank you.”

The quiet voice made Gabriel blink his eyes open. Ezra stood in the doorway between the common room and the kitchen, wearing a cherubic smile.

“Nothing to thank me for,” said Gabriel, his voice rough as he got to his feet. “Just failing spectacularly to make the world a better place.” He went back to the table and picked up the roll of crepe paper again. “Heard the whole thing?”

Ezra looked a bit guilty. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Ana said there were macarons in the kitchen, so I just nipped in to grab one, and then I heard my name, and, well—I’m not very good at resisting temptation.” He waved around the room at all the decorations. “It looks lovely, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Gabriel unrolled out a length of crepe paper to finish the ceiling. “Ezra, I hope you never thought I disapproved of Anthony because—”

“Of course not. You were just looking out for me.” Ezra laughed. “Anthony _has_ had some rather, er, ill-advised adventures.”

“Exactly. Pass me a tack, please?” Climbing up on the stool, Gabriel fastened one end of the streamer in place. “And you’re such a good, reliable kid. I didn’t think you’d make any stupid choices yourself, but I’d hate for you to feel stuck between someone who's special to you and doing the right thing.”

“That won’t happen.” Ezra preened. “I’ve been a very good influence on Anthony.”

“I’m sure,” mumbled Gabriel, crossing to the other side of the room. Why couldn’t _he_ have been a good enough influence on Mikki? For that matter, why couldn’t he have been a good enough influence on—but that was not a productive train of thought. “Another tack?” he asked. Ezra handed it up. “There we go. All done.”

It was only when Ezra was helping pack up the decorating supplies that Gabriel noticed the bottle he’d set down on the table.

“Ezra. That’s not sparkling cider, is it?”

“Um, no.” Ezra smiled apologetically.

“You know alcohol isn’t allowed—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t open it here! This evening is Anthony’s first art opening, so we _have_ to have champagne. He got this very prestigious fellowship, and all the recipients are doing a show.” Ezra almost glowed with pride. “Do you want to come?”

Gabriel blinked in confusion. “To Anthony’s art opening?”

“Yes. Just a change of scenery, I thought it might take your mind off—well, it was silly.” He paused. “BL will probably be there,” he added, as though Gabriel had asked. Had he asked?

“I’d better not then,” said Gabriel firmly, more to himself than to Ezra. “I don’t want to spoil your boyfriend’s big day with a fight over Tadfield House.”

“Ah.” Ezra looked politely skeptical, though for the life of him Gabriel couldn’t see what there was to be skeptical about. Of course if he and BL were in the same room they’d end up quarreling.

“Have a good time,” he said. “And tell Anthony congratulations from me.”

“All right,” said Ezra. He walked off humming a tune and shamelessly cradling his illicit bottle of champagne.

Gabriel carried the streamers, tape, and tacks back to his room, where the phone he’d left on his desk was blinking and chirping. Realizing that he’d probably either be hearing from people about the breakup or feel obligated to tell them about it, he silenced the phone without looking and shoved it in a drawer.

He thought he should pray for Mikki, so he sent up a quick one before he forgot. _God, please open Mikki’s heart and clear away her prejudice._

For some stupid reason he kept thinking about BL, picturing them dressed up for an art opening in red and black and fishnets. Maybe they’d wear makeup and maybe they wouldn’t, but they’d almost certainly have some paint or clay stuck on their face or in their hair. He didn’t know if it was carelessness or a deliberate look, but he loved it.

Gabriel shook himself. Ezra had been right that he needed a distraction. He opened up his computer and found, to his shock, that the Dean had responded to his last nagging e-mail with two terse lines.

_New development re: Tadfield proposals. Come to my office before 5pm to discuss._

The message had been sent at 2:17. It was now 4:29. The history building where the Dean worked was halfway across campus. Briefly, Gabriel considered changing into running clothes, but there was no time. He put on his sneakers and raced out the door.

“Hello, Gabriel.” The Dean smiled serenely as he sank into a chair to catch his breath. “So, Tadfield House is about to get appropriated and turned into a faculty retreat.”

“But—but—it’s slated for student use! That was explict in—”

“The faculty members behind this move have made the argument that if the student body cannot agree on a vision for the house, the claim is eventually forfeit.” She reached out and idly spun the small globe on her desk. “The campus renovation committee signed off on their deadline. April first.”

“But that’s Monday.”

“Correct.”

Had Gabriel arrived at this meeting in better form, instead of after breaking up with his girlfriend and then running halfway across campus, he might have thought of something clever. As it was, he could just manage to blurt out, “Can’t you make them wait?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Despite certain appearances, Gabriel, I’m not omnipotent.”

He opened his mouth, knowing there must be something else to say. Then he thought of what it was. “Does BL know?”

“I wrote to them at the same time I wrote to you, and they showed up here fifteen minutes later. So, yes.”

“Okay. Good,” said Gabriel weakly. “Thanks. For telling us. I’m—I’m sure we can come up with something over the weekend.”

“I’m sure you will.” The Dean glanced at the wall clock, and Gabriel’s eyes followed. It was five. She gestured, not unkindly, toward the door. “I’ll see you both on Monday, then. Nine am, if you please.”

When he got back to his room, Gabriel wanted nothing more than a shower and a change of clothes, but he couldn’t put off looking at his phone forever. With a sigh, he retrieved it from the drawer.

**Angela:** u know I love u both and I don't want 2 take sides

**Angela:** but Mikki's feeling pretty hurt rn

**Angela:** could u not come 2 prayer meeting for a few weeks, give her some space

**Gabriel:** no problem

It really was no problem. He didn’t think he’d ever want to go back to the meetings where he’d met Mikki. He should have been more cautious about joining a Christian group on campus, asked more questions at the start—but he’d grown up in such an inclusive church that it hadn’t even occurred to him. He really missed Pastor Tracy. Surely there must be a queer-allied faith group on campus? And if not, maybe he could start one.

Time for that later. There were more texts to read.

**Sandy:** hey man u ok

**Sandy:** lmk if u wanna talk

**Sandy:** or watch porn or whatevr

Gabriel managed to smile. Sandy could be a little weird, but he meant well.

**Gabriel:** thanks, I'm ok

Bracing himself, he opened the third and final string of messages.

**Bee:** hey did u talk to the dean

**Bee:** Gabriel?

**Bee:** check ur email dumbass

**Bee:** its about Tadfield & we're both fucked so stop ignoring me

**Bee:** GABRIEL

**Bee:** ok I hear you've been busy dumping your gf

**Bee:** which is cool

**Bee:** but ffs call me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are precious shining gifts that make me write more and faster. =)


	5. What Made Us Think That We Were Wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Freshmen by The Verve Pipe; it was low-hanging fruit and I couldn’t stop myself. This started as a couple of brief flashbacks but I guess my hand slipped?? Please enjoy five thousand words of angst and fluff and bad decisions.
> 
> Now with [adorable fanart](https://temptation--accomplished.tumblr.com/post/616523410885984256/beelzebub-as-a-cute-college-student-from-you) by the marvelous [aretia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretia/pseuds/aretia)!

_TWO YEARS EARLIER_

That tall preppy guy was staring again.

BL shouldn’t have cared. They’d been collecting stares, double-takes, and side-eyes for years. But then they’d started college and discovered that living on campus brought a welcome reduction in being gawked at—except by one kid on their hall.

Just because he had beautiful eyes was no excuse for pointing them at BL all the time, and this dumb pizza social was a fine time to set him straight. BL finished their lemonade, marched over and glared up at him. “Am I the first enbie you’ve met?”

He looked taken aback. “No.”

“Then why do you keep staring at me?”

To their surprise, he blushed. “I. Um. Cute. Because I think you’re cute.”

When someone managed to say something nice about BL’s looks, it was usually along the lines of _artistic_ or _audacious_, maybe _intriguing_. Never _cute_. This guy was clearly weirder than BL had given him credit for. They gave him a once-over. Toned body under a button-down shirt and tailored slacks, good chin, sharp nose, and those _eyes_, they could have painted those eyes for days.

Meanwhile, he was apologizing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was looking so much. I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I should have thought of that, I’ll stop—”

BL reached out and tapped the top button of his shirt to shut him up. “Gabriel, right?”

“That’s my name.”

“You’ve been checking me out?”

He spread his arms and offered a disarming smile. “I guess you could say that.”

“I just did.” BL nodded decisively. “All right. You may continue.”

He laughed. It made his eyes even more amazing. “I take back _cute_. You’re adorable.”

They soon discovered they were taking the same Introduction to Philosophy class, during which Gabriel sat in the front row, taking careful notes and raising his hand at appropriate times, while BL slouched in the back, listening skeptically and sketching with charcoal. After the lecture they would walk back to the dorm together, arguing about Aristotle and Nietzsche, Ibn Rushd and Dōgen.

Once the back-to-school flurry of organized gatherings (and free food) died down, they rarely did anything social together. They’d gravitated to different friend groups, and anyway, Gabriel got up to exercise only a couple of hours after BL went to bed.

* * *

It was a warm October night and midterms lurked just around the corner, ready to pounce on unsuspecting freshmen who didn’t realize how quickly an academic quarter raced by. Gabriel was studying in the common room with Sandy and Muriel when BL and their roommate Hass walked in with a gigantic bag of candy. They poured it out on the table.

While Sandy and Muriel leaned forward to investigate, Gabriel’s eyes were drawn to BL. Their short hair wasn’t spiked today; it looked almost fluffy. Fishnets covered their arms and legs, and an assortment of new pins and buttons had spruced up their signature red sash. Gabriel was trying to read one of the buttons when Sandy’s outrage rang through the room.

“Candy corn? Smarties? Fireballs? _Seriously_?” He frowned at the two interlopers. “Where’s the good stuff?”

“Eaten,” laughed Hass, pulling a handful of wrappers from his pocket and letting them fall to the floor.

“Asshole,” said Sandy.

Gabriel had to admit it was hard to like Hass. The boy never laughed at anything but his own twisted jokes, and his mind seemed to operate perpendicular to the world around him. But there was no reason to match his rudeness, so Gabriel just smiled and said, “Could you put those in the trash, please?”

Hass shrugged. “Isn’t there a janitor?”

Gabriel took a breath, but before he could dive into a lecture on entitlement, BL actually snapped their fingers at Hass. “Go on, throw them away. Just because we’re trolling the hall with bad candy doesn’t mean we’re _animals_.”

Grumbling, Hass scooped up all the wrappers and shoved them in the trashcan, and BL dropped onto the couch next to Gabriel. He gave them a rueful smile, impressed that they could command respect from someone like Hass.

“Well, I like candy corn,” said Muriel, selecting a brightly colored package from the table and ripping it open.

“No one likes candy corn,” scoffed Sandy. “You’re only eating it out of desperation.”

“Did someone say candy?” called a voice from the hall. Marut, Gabriel’s roommate, poked his head into the room and scanned the table. “Oh, bad candy. I get it.” He disappeared again.

“See, I knew I should have brought my camera!” lamented BL. “This would have been a great photo series on hope and disillusionment.” And then, like it was no kind of thing at all, BL swung their legs up on the couch and lay down with their head in Gabriel’s lap. “I’ll plan ahead next time.”

“Want me to get your camera,” offered Hass, digging in his pockets. He extracted a Snickers wrapper and licked it off before adding it to the trashcan.

“Nah, it’s too late. I would have wanted to capture the whole thing from the beginning.”

Gabriel stared down at the fuzzy black hair, the gray-blue eyes, the round chin with its smudge of ink and the soft lips moving as BL talked with Hass. He looked up at Sandy and Muriel, wondering if he was the only one in the room to be shocked by this development. Muriel had gone back to her books already, absently working through candy corn, but Sandy looked back at Gabriel with raised eyebrows.

Gabriel gave him a smile and a small shrug, hopefully communicating, _I have no idea what this is about but I’m okay with it_. Sandy shrugged back, and both of them returned to studying.

Of course, there was the problem of what to do with his hand, the one that had been resting on the couch next to him and was now squished under BL’s shoulders. When Gabriel extracted it and reached over BL to retrieve a highlighter from the table, they batted irritably at his sleeve. He drew his hand back, considering, then rested it lightly on BL’s hair. That seemed acceptable, so he left it there and tried to concentrate on the history of Iran in the Islamic Period, which had been a lot more interesting ten minutes ago.

_I like this_, Gabriel thought. _Bee’s head is warm and their hair is so soft._ He muddled through another chapter and a set of review questions before he wondered, _Is this part of their trolling game? Are they trying to get a reaction from me?_ But Hass had left long ago, wandered off to lurk in the hallway or in their room, and BL’s eyes were closed. _Are they falling asleep?_

“Gabriel. Gabe. Hey!”

He surfaced from his thoughts to see Sandy packing up. “I’m calling it a night,” he said.

“Oh, sure.” Gabriel looked around, realizing Muriel was already gone. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” Sandy’s eyes flicked down to Gabriel’s lap and he smiled sardonically. “Want me to turn out the lights when I go?”

“No!” exclaimed Gabriel, his voice rather strangled and his fingers tightening involuntarily in BL’s hair. “I am _studying_.”

“Sure you are. Night, guys.”

“What an asshat,” said BL, as Sandy exited the room.

Gabriel looked down. “I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

“Not yet.” They stretched up one lazy arm, eyes slitted open like a drowsy cat’s. “If you get to touch mine, I get to touch yours.”

Even though Gabriel knew they just meant hair, for goodness’ sake, his brain short-circuited for a full minute as BL’s fingers slid along his scalp. When it came back online, he noticed the mesmerizing pattern of their fishnet sleeve right in front of his eyes, and he brought his fingers up to trace it. “Feels nice,” he said.

“Yeah, it does,” agreed BL. “You ever wear it?”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “But it reminds me of chain mail.”

“Uh. You’ve worn chain mail?”

He grinned. “Why’s that surprising? You know I’m a history buff. I did reenactments in high school.”

“Oh you are precious.” BL’s voice was slurred with sleep.

Gabriel ran a finger from their wrist down to their shoulder, where the fishnet disappeared under black denim. “This is your armor.” He touched one of the pins on their vivid red sash. “And these are your military decorations.”

“That’s right.” BL yawned and snuggled their head a little deeper into Gabriel’s lap. “Warning everyone not to fuck with me.”

Gabriel chuckled. “As long as they don’t look too closely. This medal, for example, celebrates your heroic rescue of a rubber ducky, and this one is—what? Your dramatic defeat of a butterfly?”

BL closed their eyes again, and tapped a button with Hello Kitty offering up a middle finger.

Gabriel laughed and returned to stroking their hair. This time they really were falling asleep, breathing slow and heavy, eyelashes fluttering into stillness on their cheeks. He thought he might wait until they were completely out, then get up and bring a blanket to cover them. He thought he might take off their shoes. He thought about picking them up and carrying them to their bed, wondering what Hass would think of that and whether BL would be upset with him if they woke up. He thought about carrying them to _his_ bed, not that he would _ever_ do that . . . and somewhere in all the thinking he must have fallen asleep too.

He woke up with a vicious crick in his neck and a cold spot on his leg where BL’s head was missing.

He tried not to feel disappointed. BL must have woken up after he had fallen asleep, and it was perfectly sensible of them to leave the common room and go to bed. What else would they have done? He stretched his neck and started to get up, then noticed an unfamiliar pressure in his hand. He looked down and uncurled his fingers.

It was BL’s purple butterfly pin.

* * *

In December, BL (and everyone else on the hall) was invited to Hot Chocolate Movie Night. Apparently Gabriel’s mother had sent him a giant case of organic, fair trade, every-flavor-you-can-imagine hot chocolate, and he wanted to share. Because of course he did.

It was a testament to Gabriel’s sheer charisma, BL thought sourly as they walked into the lounge, that half the hall showed up to watch The Sound of Fucking Music. The promise of microwave popcorn and all the cocoa they could drink would hardly have been enough of a draw, but Gabriel’s enthusiasm tipped the balance.

BL, at least, did not come unprepared. They had purchased especially for this occasion a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream, which they poured liberally into their own cocoa, then offered to the rest of the room as Julie Andrews swirled around the hills, lip-syncing to her own voice.

“You’ll get us all in trouble,” fretted Vasia, pulling her chair even closer to Gabriel’s in a disgustingly obvious bid for comfort.

“With who? With Cassie?” said BL. Cassie was the hall’s RA. After meeting everyone at the beginning of the year and promising to be available if they _ever_ needed _anything_, she had gone AWOL. Rumor had it that she practically lived with her girlfriend off campus. “Don’t worry, Vasia. Try some. In fact, it will actually help you to stop worrying.” They waved the bottle invitingly.

“Leave her alone, Bee,” said Gabriel, shooting them a disapproving frown. “You’re really not supposed to have alcohol here.”

“It’s the only way to survive this movie,” BL contended. “You’re just lucky I’m not playing a drinking game. You know, take a shot for every braid, every yodel, every Nazi—”

“Hush,” he admonished, turning back to the screen. BL sighed and leaned against the wall, because they’d arrived late and all the seats were taken. If they got a little drunker, they might try to piss off Vasia by sitting on the floor in front of Gabriel and putting their head in his lap, but right now that seemed too desperate. So they lurked in the shadows, sipping their boozy cocoa and offering to fill other mugs whenever they got low.

“Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” said Muriel absently, when BL brought her full mug back from the kitchen.

“Eh, I hate this movie anyway,” they muttered. If they sometimes they added alcohol to the cocoa of someone who hadn’t asked for it, well, that was just extra nice, wasn’t it?

Gabriel finished his cocoa near the end of “My Favorite Things”—he must have really been savoring it, BL thought, or too absorbed in the movie to drink. They slipped through the crowd to take his empty mug. “Fill you up?”

“Oh yes, thanks! I want to try the gingerbread flavor this time, please.”

“Gingerbread it is, you weirdo.” BL was ready for a refill too, so they brought both mugs to the kitchen and reached into the case of cocoa for a gingerbread packet and an extra-dark packet. They’d stirred in the milk and they were just adding the Irish cream when someone cleared their throat in the doorway.

They turned to see Gabriel, looking absolutely furious. “You can’t _do_ that, Bee.”

“Sure I can,” they drawled, although their heart was abruptly beating double-time. “I just did.”

He strode into the kitchen, snatched up both mugs, and poured them into the sink. “You’re no better than a frat boy slipping roofies in someone’s cup.”

“Jesus, Gabriel, aren’t you overreacting a bit? It’s hardly the same—”

“It _is_ the same, Bee. It’s illegal and it’s wrong. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He grabbed the bottle of Bailey’s out of their hand, and emptied it down the drain.

“Hey! That was expensive!” BL yelped. “Isn’t that, like, theft, which is also illegal and wrong?”

They expected a quick retort, but instead he set down the bottle carefully and took a few deep breaths, like he was trying to calm down. Then he turned to BL, reached out and cupped their cheek with one hand. The touch was gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to the anger still clouding his face. In a moment of dizzying stupidity, BL thought he might kiss them. They may even have licked their lips in anticipation, although they would never afterwards have admitted it.

“I guess that makes us even, then,” said Gabriel. He stepped back and nodded at the mugs. “Are you going to fill those up properly?”

BL gaped at him. They felt hot all over, like standing too close to a bonfire, like the beginning of a full-body sunburn. They wanted, _God_, they wanted too fucking much, they wanted to cry and scream and beg forgiveness and punch Gabriel in the face and kiss him senseless. “Make your own damn cocoa,” they snarled. “I’m going to bed.”

They all but ran down the hall to their room, intensely grateful that Hass was out at the party BL had skipped in favor of Gabriel’s stupid movie night. No one needed to see them sobbing into their pillow even as they shoved a hand down their pants and imagined what could have happened (_what never would have happened_) if the fury darkening Gabriel’s eyes had been desire, if he had pressed his lips to BL’s, crowding them against the counter. If BL had slipped their hands under his shirt to share the fire in their skin, if he had deepened the kiss and lifted them up so they could wrap their legs around his waist . . . they bit down on the pillow and chased their frustrated pleasure alone in the dark, until sleep claimed them.

* * *

The holiday break came and went, and winter quarter brought new classes and new opportunities to spend too much money on textbooks. So Gabriel sat at his desk on a cold, rainy night with a used copy of _Ahlan wa Sahlan (Functional Modern Standard Arabic for Beginners)_ and a large eraser, grateful that at least the book’s previous owner had used a pencil to scribble their unintelligible margin notes.

The heavy bass of Marut’s music was faintly audible from his massive headphones, and at first Gabriel thought his roommate had turned up the volume. Then he realized the sound was pounding feet. Someone was racing down the hall.

Their door was propped open, because the two boys valued community. Vasia burst through it and skidded to a stop in front of Gabriel, panting for breath. Her eyes were wide and scared. “Gabriel, someone’s trying to break into the common room. At the window.”

Gabriel stood up and tapped Marut’s shoulder. He pulled off his headphones inquiringly. “Vasia heard a prowler outside,” Gabriel explained.

“What should we do?” asked Vasia, sounding frantic. “Call the police?”

“Let’s all take a look first,” said Gabriel, and the three of them headed down the hall. Vasia could be nervous and dramatic, but she wouldn’t make things up. “Maybe it’s a raccoon.”

Gabriel entered the lounge just as someone slid through the jimmied-open window, tumbling to the floor in a sodden mess. It was BL.

“Well, hello! How nice to have a welcoming committee,” they said, climbing to their feet. They wore a black vest over a sheer white shirt and gray pants stuffed into knee-high boots, all of it plastered to their body with rain. From the color on their cheeks and the loose sound of their voice, Gabriel knew they’d been drinking.

“Forget your keys?” he asked grimly. He walked over to close the window. “You gave Vasia quite a scare. She thought someone was breaking in.”

“Technically, someone was,” Marut pointed out. BL raised one hand to give a saucy wiggle of their fingers, and Marut chuckled.

Vasia was not amused. “If I’d known it was only _you_, I wouldn’t have bothered Gabriel.”

“Glad you didn’t know, then. He could always use more bothering. Though if I’m honest, I prefer to be the one doing it.” BL swaggered past them all into the kitchen. “I won’t put Gabriel on the spot by asking what he prefers.”

“Tea!” exclaimed Gabriel, feeling a bit desperate. He found BL distressingly attractive, even in this drenched and inebriated state (_perhaps especially in this state_, suggested a tiny voice in his head, which he silenced at once) and he was not blind to Vasia’s jealousy, although he wished he were. He would have liked to escape back to _Ahlan wa Sahlan_, but that seemed cowardly. “I prefer tea. Anyone else want a cup?”

“Sounds hot,” said BL with a smirk, their eyes fixed on Gabriel’s face. “I’m in.”

“I’m not interested in drinking tea with burglars,” sniffed Vasia, looking pointedly at BL, then Gabriel. “I’ll take you up on it another time.”

“Sure, fine.” Gabriel cleared his throat as Vasia disappeared down the hall. “Marut?”

“Nah, I’d better get back to my paper now that the mystery’s solved. Enjoy your tea.” 

As Marut headed off to the room, Gabriel filled up the kettle and brought out two mugs. BL picked up the dish towel and dried their hair.

“Bee!” said Gabriel, exasperated.

“What,” they said, tossing it on the counter. “Like me better all wet and dripping?”

Gabriel’s mouth went dry. It would have been nice to pretend innocence of exactly how filthy that sounded, as he’d managed to do with _sounds hot_, but it was too late. He was staring, and BL was staring right back, their lips slightly parted, looking as hungry as he felt.

He sidestepped. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re observant,” they retorted, coming close enough to poke him in the chest. From here he could see them shivering, could even make out goosebumps under the thin fabric of their shirt.

“Why don’t you change into dry clothes while I make the tea,” he said, both out of concern for their comfort and a need for some distance.

“And now you want me to strip,” they teased, leaning back against the counter.

“That is not what I said.” The kettle came to a boil with a hiss of steam, which Gabriel thought summed up the situation a little too perfectly. “I’m having mint. What do you want?”

“That’s easy. I want you to warm me up,” purred BL, their eyes sliding over Gabriel from head to toe. “You look very warm.”

“Mint for both of us, then,” he said with almost manic cheerfulness, retreating to the pantry to pull teabags from the communal stash. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

“Left it at the Den.” BL turned to rummage through the cabinets.

"And, what, you walked home in the rain without _noticing_?"

“Mefi gave me a ride back to campus, and I didn’t realize till after she dropped me off." BL fished out a sticky, half-empty honey bear from behind several boxes of cereal. "And my phone was in the jacket along with my keys, which is why I didn’t just text someone to let me in. Satisfied, detective?”

Gabriel smiled. “Mostly. I do have one more question, but it can wait until you’re warmed up.”

“How are you planning—”

Gabriel pulled off his sweater and handed it to BL. “Put this on. And don’t say I never did anything for you.”

To Gabriel’s surprise, BL pressed the armful of soft white fleece to their face and breathed deeply. “Nice smell,” they said quietly, almost to themselves, then drew the sweater over their head, threading their arms through the oversized sleeves. “Thanks.”

“Welcome. Shall we?”

They each took a mug of mint tea, BL’s liberally laced with honey, and sat on the couch, not quite touching. Even though BL looked cuter than ever buried in Gabriel’s sweater, somehow it softened the desperate, almost painful edge of his attraction. He could sit near them now without feeling like he had to dig his nails into his palms.

“So what’s your other question?” asked BL, after they had sipped in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Isn’t there a burglar alarm on the window?”

“Oh that. Yeah, I disabled the alarm system a couple months ago.”

Gabriel spluttered on his mouthful of tea and had to spend several seconds gasping and coughing before he could ask, “_Why?_”

They waved at hand at the window. “So I could get in if I needed to, of course.”

“Have you been . . . forgetting your keys a lot?”

“No, this was the first time. I just had an idea it would come in handy, you know.” They had the unbelievable temerity to look pleased with themselves.

“So you disabled the entire building’s alarm system for your own convenience?” Gabriel was still too surprised to be really angry.

“I guess you could say that.”

“I just did.” He set down his mug and glared at them. “I can’t believe you, Bee. You put everyone here in danger. Do you get that? Do you care about anyone besides yourself? Do you even care about _yourself_?” Gabriel took a few steadying breaths as BL just looked at him. That had gotten a little too personal, he realized. He brought himself back to the issue at hand. “You have to fix it. Turn it back on.”

BL nodded more quickly than he expected. “Yeah, okay, I will.”

Gabriel stood up. “Now.”

“Uh. Okay.” BL got up and led Gabriel out of the lounge and down the hall. They stopped in front of a utility closet. “Got your building key?”

He drew it from his pocket. “Sure, but—”

They stuck it in the lock, turned the handle, and the door swung open. “All this time, you never knew you could get in here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t go around trying my keys in random doors, okay?”

“You’re missing so much fun.” BL handed his key back and pulled him into the closet, flicking the light on. “Close the door if you don’t want anyone to wonder what we’re up to.”

Gritting his teeth, Gabriel closed the door. He was already regretting this. He should have just waited until morning and then reported BL’s infraction, so someone in a position of authority could deal with them. He shouldn’t be the one dealing with their messes; he was their peer, just another clueless freshman. He wished Cassie would show up and do her job.

BL had popped open a panel on the wall, revealing a circuit board and an array of wires. They reached into their vest for a miniature screwdriver and used it to reconnect a wire which had been hanging loose. Then they pushed a tiny white plug into a tiny white socket. “There we go.”

“It’s fixed?” asked Gabriel. His pulse was hammering. How had he ended up feeling like a burglar’s accomplice? A bucket was digging into the back of his legs, the air smelled faintly rancid, and the worst part was that BL still looked so impossibly cute as they pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and clicked the panel shut.

“Yeah, all back to normal.” BL turned to Gabriel with a crooked smile, half cocky and half uncertain, like they knew they’d almost pushed him to the breaking point tonight.

Without giving himself any more time to think, Gabriel pulled BL into his arms. They melted together, both of them trembling. For all their flirting, it was the first time they had ever hugged, and the full-body contact was overwhelming. They stood chest to chest, legs tangling, hands roaming over backs and shoulders and waists and then making fists in each other’s clothes like they’d never let go.

Gabriel leaned down and breathed against the side of BL’s face, the curve of their ear. They shivered almost violently against him. He bit his own lip. He had to say something, and he knew it wasn’t what they wanted to hear. 

“Bee,” he whispered. “This was your last chance. If you ever pull something like this again, I’m going straight to the Dean and I’ll tell her everything. Everything. Got that?”

BL had gone stiff in his arms, not pulling away but no longer leaning in. They seemed frozen. He forced himself to release his hold, to put enough distance between them to make eye contact. “Answer me, Bee.”

“Yes. Got it.” Their voice was hoarse, their eyes a confusion of dismay and desire. Gabriel's heart ached and his body was screaming at his brain to stop being such an idiot.

“Great. I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He pasted on a bright smile as he opened the closet door. “You can keep the sweater.”

They separated and walked to their own rooms without another word, but that night Gabriel dreamed of BL wearing nothing but his sweater, climbing over him, their knees around his hips, one hand on his shoulder and the other guiding his fingers up the inside of their thigh. There was heat, and softness, and—

“Wet,” he murmured.

“Dripping,” they hissed, pulling his hand higher. They both gasped. “Am I _bothering_ you?”

Gabriel woke up before he could answer.

* * *

BL was packing. They were doing it fast, ripping posters from the walls and bunching up clothes they’d have to smooth out later. At the bottom of this suitcase was a soft cream-colored sweater. They weren’t going to think about that.

They glanced over at the box on their desk, full of pale squirming bodies they’d borrowed from a friend in the biology department. BL liked to call them fly babies instead of maggots, just to throw people off. Babies are cute, right?

They scooped pencils, markers, charcoal and pastels from a desk drawer into a bag. If only Muriel hadn’t had a panic attack. How was BL supposed to know she’d feel that way about fly babies? Gabriel had said (voice like thunder, eyes like lightning, how idiotic was it that they still wanted to paint and paint and paint those eyes?) that Muriel had been through some tough times as a kid, that the details were her business but maggots were triggering, and BL felt bad, they truly did, but they also wanted to roll their eyes because of fucking course Gabriel would know that, would be a confidante for Muriel and half the hall. He was so _good_.

They moved to the bed, tearing off sheets and pillowcases, feeling betrayed by the heat that still flared in their skin whenever they thought of Gabriel. They’d never dated, never even kissed, so why did this feel like an especially shitty breakup?

Hass came into the room, opened the box of maggots, and dropped in a dead mouse. “Where’d you get that?” asked BL, somewhat impressed.

“Around,” he said vaguely.

BL yanked on the zipper of their overstuffed backpack. “Look, Hass, you—take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Wish I was moving to the Den of Iniquity.”

“You probably can next year. There’s a couple of graduating seniors.” They shook their head. “You don’t want to be moving like I am, middle of the year, cramming into a closet that’s not supposed to be a bedroom.”

“Cool housemates, though. Better than here.” He paused, maybe to gauge BL’s mood. “Fucking Gabriel.”

“Fucking Gabriel,” agreed BL. “Come on. Help me carry some of this shit. Mefi’s waiting to drive me over and she’s parked illegally.”

BL took the long way out of the hall so they wouldn’t have to walk past Gabriel’s room, which they knew was petty as hell.

* * *

What BL would have seen if they had taken the short way: Gabriel at his desk, ignoring his books, tracing his thumb over a purple butterfly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers to questions nobody asked: Marut is a fallen angel, Cassiel is an Archangel, Muriel and Vasiariah are both Dominions, and of course you know our friend Sandalphon.
> 
> Next chapter: Back to our regularly scheduled plot!
> 
> Let me know if you catch any errors or inconsistencies, I like to tidy up. And thanks ever so much for reading!


	6. Rumor Has It

**BL:** hey did u talk to the dean

**BL:** Gabriel?

**BL:** check ur email dumbass

It had been an hour since BL’s last message, and still no response from Gabriel. They didn’t have much experience texting him, but with his overblown sense of responsibility they’d expected him to be quicker on the draw. Well, maybe the delay _was_ Gabriel being responsible, putting off his messages until he’d finished a study session or something. Time to give him a little more information.

**BL:** its about Tadfield & we’re both fucked so stop ignoring me

They shoved their phone deep in a pocket and headed into the gallery. Attending the opening of Anthony’s show was the right—ugh, the _responsible_—thing to do, and it would take their mind off the Tadfield quandary for a while.

The Agnes Nutter Award was granted every year to three freshmen or sophomores who “demonstrated extraordinary and ambitious vision in the scope of their artistic work.” In addition to collecting a sizable chunk of cash, Nutter recipients were invited to show their winning pieces in one of the campus galleries.

This year’s show was well-lit, well-stocked with snacks and champagne, and well-attended by students, staff, and faculty. (The attendance was not unrelated to the stocking.) BL collected a plastic cup and a cluster of grapes on their way to peruse the art, exchanging nods and greetings as they moved through the crowd.

They stopped in front of the view from Alpha Centauri that Anthony had been working on in the studio. He’d really filled it out; the puffs of nebulae were layered with infinite distance while the foreground details placed the viewer on an indisputably alien planet.

“Your protégé does excellent work,” commented Professor Lucier, joining BL in front of the painting.

“He really does,” agreed BL, surprised by Lucier’s word choice. Their decision to take Anthony under their wing must have been more obvious than they’d realized.

“It’s always a delight to discover a student who’s comfortable crossing between representational and conceptual art so early in their career.” Lucier paused for a long drink from what was probably a second or third cup of champagne, though there was no telling from his perpetually florid complexion. “Like you.”

BL shook their head—not in false modesty, but because Lucier would see right through pretense. “I do some conceptual stuff, sure,” said BL. “Not on the level of Scenic Route.”

“Oh, that is a wonder, isn’t it?” Lucier and BL drifted over to the knot of people in front of a screen mounted on the wall. Back in October, when the campus had been inundated with homecoming traffic, Anthony had written a virus to infiltrate the maps on visitors’ phones. No matter where they were going, the new software would direct them along a route that helped trace out a giant (albeit lopsided) Circle-A. While respecting the skill involved, BL had told Anthony in no uncertain terms that he would be a fucking idiot to actually release the virus, so instead he’d simulated a view from above campus to show what it could have done.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start with a project like this,” admitted BL, watching an endless stream of hypothetical homecomers do their part to promote anarchism.

“We all have different strengths.” Lucier delivered the platitude with practiced ease, then gave BL a shrewd glance. “I haven’t seen you paint anything in a while.”

BL made a noncommittal noise and ate some grapes.

“Don’t think I’m tired of your fly work! It’s so original, darling, it really is.” Lucier was the only person on the planet who would dare call BL _darling_, and he didn’t think twice about it. He talked that way to all the art students. “But you must know I miss your painting. I wouldn’t want to see you abandon it entirely.”

“Mm,” said BL. They had been painting, in fact, but nothing that they could stand to show anyone. There was a stack of canvases buried in their room. Casting around for a diversion, they caught Anthony’s eye and waved him over.

He grabbed the champagne bottle on his way. “Thanks for coming, and for, well, everything,” he said, filling up both BL’s and Lucier’s cups. “You know, Professor Lucier, it was BL who convinced me to apply for this.”

“Always gratifying to have my judgment validated by university committee,” said BL in a tone that suggested they couldn’t have cared less. “It is a great show, though, Anthony. Good champagne, too.”

“Ezra brought it.” Anthony looked with a stupidly infatuated smile at his boyfriend, who stood by the refreshment table savoring a plate of cheese.

One history student reminded BL of another, and they couldn’t resist checking their phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed. Nothing. They typed another message, short and to the point.

**BL:** GABRIEL

“I may not be able to stay long,” they told Lucier and Anthony. “There's a new deadline for figuring out the Tadfield situation.”

“A deadline?” asked Lucier with raised eyebrows, so BL summarized their meeting with the Dean. While they spoke, Ezra drifted over to join the group, as if he’d been summoned by Anthony’s affectionate glance.

“I know this is a dumb question,” said Anthony when BL finished. “But couldn’t the house be split up—half library and half studios?”

“The call for proposals said explicitly that it’s too small to be subdivided.” BL shook their head. “Reading between the lines, the university is too cheap to bother with it.”

“Besides, we need all the studio space we can get,” said Lucier with a mild frown at Anthony. “I’d expect you to understand that.”

Anthony gulped. “Um, yes. Obviously. I just—”

“Anyway, who wants to make art in the same building as boring historians doing boring research? They’d probably ask us not to play _music_,” said BL. “Yeah, I know you’re listening, Ezra. Standing perfectly still doesn’t actually make you invisible.”

“Er,” said Ezra.

Lucier gave BL an approving nod. “Go ahead and use the deadline as leverage to push your proposal through, by any means necessary. I have every confidence in you.”

With that, his attention drifted to another professor, and the two of them began to discuss grant proposals and course scheduling.

“I’ll get that house,” muttered BL. “I just need Gabriel to look at his damn phone.” They glared at their own device. “What is he _doing_?”

“Er,” said Ezra again.

BL couldn’t tell if that syllable was supposed to mean something, but Anthony seemed to think so. He leaned gently into the other boy. “What is it, angel?”

Ezra fidgeted. “It’s just that I saw Gabriel at the dorm before I came over here and, well, he’s having a difficult day. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not checking messages right now.”

BL gave Ezra a flat stare. “Difficult how?”

“Oh dear, I don’t know if he would want me to share the details.” Ezra looked helplessly at Anthony, who took his hand and squeezed it.

“’S all right. We won’t tell him you told us.”

Ezra lowered his voice. “Well, this afternoon Gabriel broke up with Mikki. That was his girlfriend, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” said BL, masking the wicked glee they felt at the news. “What happened?”

Ezra took a deep, fortifying drink of champagne and a firmer grip on Anthony’s hand. “Gabriel was decorating the hall for Pride, and Mikki had some appallingly small-minded things to say about it. He tried to set her straight, but she wasn’t having it. So they broke up.”

Anthony wore a tight little smile. “You know what? I hate him a little bit less now.”

BL would never have doubted Gabriel’s response to such garbage. That Mikki had spouted it in the first place was both infuriating and at the same time extremely satisfying. BL had already disliked the girl for personal reasons and was delighted to have a more substantial reason to continue disliking her. “So Gabriel’s pretty upset?” they asked Ezra.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” said the boy. “When I talked to him, I think he was trying to act calm about it. Be a responsible RA and all that. Er, I can tell him you’re trying to reach him, if you like?”

“No need.” BL tossed back the rest of their champagne, pulled out their phone and began typing.

**BL:** ok I hear you’ve been busy dumping your gf

**BL:** which is cool 

**BL:** but ffs call me 

A freshly single Gabriel was a mixed blessing, a damned temptation—and maybe just what they needed in order to gain Tadfield House _by any means necessary_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first part of a chapter that was getting too long so I split it in two. That means the next chapter is mostly written already, and will be posted soon! (THERE MAY BE KISSING)


	7. I Found a Way to Let You Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is from Beyoncé's Halo (obligatory) and the last one was Adele, of course. Thank you all ever so much for reading and for leaving comments and kudos, they truly make my day! (and make me write more)

“What if I spend the rest of the year helping you find studio space somewhere else on campus?”

“No.” BL hunched over their coffee at the little university cafe. It was much earlier than they’d like to be awake on a Saturday morning, but when Gabriel had finally called last night, this meeting was all they’d been able to agree on.

“I’m sure we could find something if we worked together,” he said coaxingly. “You know me, Bee, I wouldn’t let it go until we did.”

Gabriel’s earnest entreaty made BL even more cross. They resented the intimacy of _you know me_. But it was true, and because it was true they knew how to make him drop this particular approach.

“Would you take that deal from me?”

“Well—” He stopped, then let out his breath in defeat. “Okay, you’re right, I wouldn’t.” He gave them a wry smile and sipped tea from his reusable mug.

“See, I do know you.” BL couldn’t resist taunting him. “Everyone thinks you’re so nice, but a nice person would take the deal. You’re really a competitive, controlling hard-ass, aren’t you?”

“There’s no call for ad hominem attacks.” Gabriel’s smile faded into a thin press of lips. “What’s _your_ brilliant idea, then? You’re the one who was so anxious for us to talk.”

“I want to go look at Tadfield House,” said BL. They’d been thinking most of the night, and this was the best they could come up with. Spend time with Gabriel at the house, and improvise from there. “Might give us some ideas. Maybe one of us realizes it won’t work for our proposal after all. Or maybe there really is a way to share it, and we can write up a new proposal together.”

Gabriel tapped his chin. “If we come up with a single proposal that includes both studio and library space, maybe we can loophole our way out of the ‘no subdivisions’ clause.”

“Indeed, Your Honor,” said BL sarcastically, standing up. “Shall we?”

He nodded. “Let’s.”

BL tossed their coffee cup in the trash, shouldered their bag and continued an argument that had begun while they were ordering. “Now you have to carry that ridiculous travel mug around for the rest of the day. You don’t even have a bag to stick it in.”

“What a terrible hardship, compared to the waste of producing single-use cups and the proliferation of toxic landfills to contain the trash,” said Gabriel as he set off toward Tadfield House.

“Self-righteous prick,” scoffed BL, falling into step beside him. “Don’t you know all the cups on campus are compostable?”

“Only in theory. People are so careless and lazy about sorting trash that most of the time it all ends up in the landfill anyway. And what about resources? Don’t you think it’s wasteful to grow corn and potatoes just to turn them into single-use cups and spoons?”

BL cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to go into immigration law? Sounds to me like you’ve got a future in environmental defense.”

“I do care about the environment.” He flashed BL a warm smile. “But not the same way I care about people.”

BL bit the inside of their cheek. Gabriel wasn’t even trying to flirt, they were sure, but apparently whatever immunity they’d built up to his stupid smile had disappeared now that he was available again. _He’s not available to_ you, they reminded themselves. _He made that pretty damn clear two years ago._

“Your clients will be lucky to have you,” BL observed, keeping their voice cool. “And you’ve given me another great idea. I think I’ll start fishing all the non-compostable shit out of compost bins, and use it for sculpture material.”

“Disgusting,” said Gabriel, still smiling. “That’s not winning me over to the idea of an art studio in the same building as the library.”

“You should be so lucky as to do your banal studying in proximity to creative genius,” sniffed BL. “Here we are. The battlefield.”

Tadfield House had once belonged to a wealthy eccentric named Mary Hodges. She’d spent her youth as a nun in an obscure religious order, and no one knew how she’d made her fortune, but she'd left all her money and property to the university. The lawn and garden beds had been neatly maintained by campus gardeners. The house, charming despite its dated architecture, had been locked up for years.

The two students circled it now like birds of prey.

“It’s pretty small,” said Gabriel.

BL nodded. “Just one story.”

“And an attic. That could be usable space.”

“Doesn’t look big enough.”

“Big enough for you,” smirked Gabriel.

BL punched him in the arm, hard. “Let’s check it out from the inside.”

Gabriel rubbed his arm. “Is this the part where you tell me that my dorm key works in the house lock?”

Their stomach twisted and they almost punched him again. It was hateful of him to bring up that long-ago night like some kind of joke. “No, this is the part where I teach you how to break in through a window. Come on.”

“You’re kidding, right?” But he followed BL to the side of the house they’d scoped out on the first walkaround, where a low window was half-screened behind a hedge.

BL dropped their bag on the ground and pulled out a small flashlight to investigate the corners of the window and the inside of the room. Satisfied that this would be a straightforward job, they traded the flashlight for a large screwdriver.

They set the flat head of the screwdriver against the beading at the edge of the glass, then almost jumped out of their skin when Gabriel’s hand covered theirs. His skin felt cool and damp, his long fingers easily pinning BL’s to the windowsill. Awareness of his proximity hummed through their body, ratcheting up their heartbeat, freezing them in place so they couldn’t even turn to see his face.

“Bee, look at me,” he said softly.

With an effort, they did. He looked . . . hurt. “Does it have to be like this?” he asked.

BL swallowed. How could they explain that they didn’t really want to do it like this, either, but they felt obliged to forge ahead? Lucier was their lifeline on campus, their only faculty support, and he’d made his expectations clear. _Any means necessary._ “It won’t hurt anybody, Gabriel. It won’t even hurt the house. We’re on a deadline, right? This is the most efficient way in.”

Still he held BL’s hand, around the screwdriver, against the edge of the window. They needed him to let go. (Their heart whispered, _never let go, cling to me always, pull me back from every edge._) “Look,” BL said, as impatient with themselves as with Gabriel. “Do you have any other ideas?”

He searched their face for a long moment, then finally dropped his hand and stepped back. “No. Fine. Go on. I’ll—I’ll keep an eye out to make sure no one’s watching.”

BL went to work removing the beading around the window. It came off nicely, and the glass pane was just as easy to lever out and slide down to the grass. They tucked both pane and beading out of view behind the hedge, pushed their bag through the open window, and crawled in after it.

Just as they landed on the floor inside, they heard Gabriel mumble, “I thought this time might be different.”

BL stuck their head back out. “What the hell,” they inquired sharply, “does that mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Gabriel’s cheeks were flushed with color. BL wondered if it was embarrassment at what he’d said or shame at what he was doing. With a last hunted look all around, he tucked his travel mug under one arm, swung his long legs over the windowsill and joined BL inside Tadfield House.

They stood on a dusty hardwood floor in a dim room with bookshelves built into the walls. Gabriel managed a shaky smile. “Looks like a library already.”

“Shut it,” said BL. They flipped open their bag and held it out. “Here. There's room for your dumb mug, as long as it's empty.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Gabriel nestled the mug gently beside the tools of art and burglary and took a deep breath. “Shall we explore?”

They wandered through a large sitting room, past a fireplace, down a hallway. Despite his obvious nerves, Gabriel paid close attention to everything, especially the ceiling. BL figured he was looking for an entrance to the attic. Meanwhile, BL could barely focus on their surroundings. What did he mean, _this time might be different?_ They’d already asked and he’d refused to answer. Maybe they could try a different angle.

“Sorry about your girlfriend,” said BL.

Gabriel had found a panel in the hallway’s low ceiling and was trying to work it loose. He answered without pausing his efforts. “Do you mean, sorry we broke up, or sorry she turned out to be a homophobic bigot?”

BL almost laughed. “The second one.” They added with a touch of vicious pleasure, “I’m not at all sorry you broke up.”

“Oh well, neither am I.” He sounded almost cheerful now. “She’s probably gone and told all her friends I’m gay, which is great, because no one will try to get us back together.”

This time BL couldn’t keep the laugh from bubbling out. “But you’re not gay, are you? Despite your love of perfume and musical theater?”

“I can’t believe that you, of all people, would stoop to stereotypes.” Gabriel shook his head at them, mock scolding. “Look, I’ve got this open. Can I use your flashlight?”

“I’m just saying, some people might think you send mixed signals.” BL clicked on the flashlight and handed it to Gabriel. “For the record, though, I always got the impression you were straight.”

“True. At least, so far in my life I’ve only been attracted to girls.” He tilted his head back and paced in a small circle, peering into the attic from different angles. “And you.”

BL almost choked. It was one thing to remember, to keep a half-starved beast of desire scrabbling around inside them for two years. It was quite another to hear Gabriel so casually put a name to it. “Until you got tired of me,” they bit out.

Gabriel abruptly turned off the flashlight and faced BL. “Tired of you?”

“And then you kept right on giving me that big stupid smile, like you were rubbing it in—”

“Rubbing it in?” Gabriel’s echo had gotten louder. “Is that really what you think I was doing? What do you _take_ me for, Bee?”

They swallowed past a sudden ache in their throat. No, if they really let themselves think about it, they knew Gabriel wouldn’t try to rub in the fact that he’d gotten them kicked out of the dorms. He was too kind for that. But it had been easier to write him off as a holier-than-thou dickhead than deal with the complicated reality.

“The attic,” BL croaked. “How does it look?”

Gabriel stared hard at BL. For a moment they thought he wasn’t going to let them get away with changing the subject, but finally he handed the flashlight back. “You were right, it’s too small. And too full of insulation and pipes.”

“Fine. Let’s keep looking.”

Shoving the flashlight in their bag, BL spun on their heel and headed into a room that must have been a kitchen, though it had long ago been stripped of appliances. Gabriel’s footsteps sounded behind them, his voice mercifully silent. 

BL yanked open the pantry door and swiped at cobwebs just for something to do. A faint outline on the floor caught their eye. Curious, they stepped onto it and stamped. The hollowness of the sound was unmistakable. “Hey Gabriel, I think there’s a trapdoor.”

He moved close enough to peer over their shoulder. “A wine cellar or something, I guess.”

“Let’s see.” There wasn’t any kind of handle, so BL used the screwdriver to pry up the trapdoor until they could get their fingers underneath. It swung all the way back on its hinges to lie flush with the floor. The dim light filtering through the kitchen windows illuminated the first few steps of a staircase. BL got out their flashlight for a better view.

“It’s deep,” they said. “Sister Mary must’ve loved her wine.” They started down the stairs with Gabriel close behind.

When they reached the bottom, BL panned the light around. They stood in an enormous basement, at least the size of the house above. The floor was smooth cement, the walls lined with some kind of reflective fabric. There was a sink and ducting and fans and—

“Never mind wine.” BL whistled. “She had quite the operation down here.”

“What do you mean?”

They turned and nearly blinded him with the flashlight before they remembered to lower it. “This is a grow room. For marijuana, sunshine.”

Gabriel blinked, adjusting to this new information. “So that’s where she got her money!”

“Yeah, I bet the university—”

“Shh!” hissed Gabriel, grabbing BL’s shoulder. From the house above came the slam of a door, followed by pattering footsteps and voices. “Should we close the trapdoor?” he whispered.

“Too loud. Leave it open, and they might not even notice it. If they do come down here—” BL flashed the light around carefully. Yes, there was a closet under the stairs. They eased the door open and slipped inside. Gabriel followed, his hand still on their shoulder. BL shut the door as quietly as possible, switched off the flashlight, and put it away by feel.

The closet, like the rest of the house, was empty, and large enough that Gabriel and BL could have stood inside without touching. But Gabriel didn't seem to want to let go. “Shit,” he whispered, to BL's shocked amusement. “Who do you think it is? Some of those faculty who want to take the place over, scoping it out?”

“I don’t know.” BL realized from the tightness of both his voice and his grip that Gabriel was frightened. Poor guy, this really was a novel situation for him.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Turning to face him, BL blindly mirrored his touch, one hand reaching up to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Whoever it is, they’ll probably just walk around for a while and leave, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Gabriel leaned closer as though he wasn’t aware he was doing it. Made bold by the darkness, BL moved their hands to his hair and face, stroking, soothing. “And you’re so good at talking, Gabriel, even if they find us here, you’ll think of something brilliant to say, so it’s all going to be okay . . .”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” His whisper was suddenly fierce. “You think getting caught is all that’s scaring me right now? Don’t you know what you do to me? Don’t you remember that night in that other closet—”

“How could I forget, you fucking gutted me—”

“I gutted myself, too, didn’t you know? Bee, I wanted so badly to kiss you, to be with you, but you couldn’t stop playing the rebel long enough for us to give it a try. And you were the first person I thought of when I broke up with Mikki. I thought we could have another chance. But nothing’s changed, you’re still breaking all the rules and I still can’t handle it, and, Bee, stop _touching_ me, you’re _killing_ me—”

BL kissed him. They went up on their toes and yanked down on his shirt so they could shut his stupid mouth with their own. They kissed him knowing they shouldn’t, knowing that it was at best a questionable choice and at worst a violation, but they simply couldn’t hold back any longer. They kissed him with parted lips and eager tongue, and thank God, he was right there to meet them.

Gabriel’s arms locked around their body, never mind the awkwardness of the messenger bag at their hip. He took a sharp breath through his nose and licked BL’s lips, his tongue meeting and sliding against theirs. They sucked gently on his lower lip, savoring the hungry sound it drew from his throat. He broke off the kiss only to tilt his head and start again from a new angle, and BL thought deliriously that this was all they’d needed, all this time, to stop flirting and fighting and just fucking kiss each other.

BL’s hands migrated to Gabriel’s hair, one stroking the fuzz at the back of his neck and the other winding through the thicker stuff farther up. They felt rather than heard his sounds of pleasure against their lips. His hands covered their back, warm and satisfying in their pressure, but far too still. _Move your hands, idiot, touch me like I’ve always wanted you to_, they thought. But before they could speak it aloud, feet and voices rang sharp and close on the stairs, startling BL and Gabriel apart.

“This is very spooky, Anthony. I don’t like this.”

“Spooky is fun! Maybe they’ve kept the house empty so long because it’s haunted. Maybe we’ll find bodies and bloodstains and—”

“Stop trying to scare me! It’s—it’s probably just some prepper’s stockpile of copper pennies and guns.”

“Oh my sweet, soft angel, are you really hoping for guns over ghosts?”

“I don’t mind guns. My uncle says they lend weight to a moral argument.”

“Right, I forgot how weird your family is.”

“Your mother screams at her houseplants.”

“Better them than me. Hey, I found a light switch!”

A bright line appeared under the door, slicing into the pitch black of the closet. BL saw Gabriel frown, but when he met their eyes, his expression softened and he brushed his fingers over their cheek.

BL had been planning to step out into the main room—no reason to stay hidden from a couple of freshmen—but this tender gesture stopped them in their tracks.

“No guns, no ghosts. Disappointing. Want to know something, Ezra?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll tell you anyway. I was hoping it would be a sex dungeon.”

Gabriel let out a hysterical laugh, smothered too late with his hand.

“Anthony! Did you hear that?”

“Christ, you’re cutting off my circulation. No, you don’t have to let go! Okay, who’s down here?”

BL swung open the closet door and strolled out into the basement, followed by a rather rumpled Gabriel. “Hello, boys.”

Anthony’s sunglasses were pushed up his forehead in a concession to the underground locale. He looked quite comfortable with how tightly Ezra was clinging to his arm, and quite entertained by the sight of BL and Gabriel. “Well, look at that,” he drawled. “Maybe it is a sex dungeon after all.”

BL pointed the screwdriver at him. “One more word and I will eviscerate you. How’d you get in?”

Anthony widened his eyes and gestured to his open mouth, as if to say, _I would love to answer but you don’t want me to talk._

Ezra sighed. His grasp on Anthony had loosened. “I know one of the janitors, a fellow named Shadwell. Very interested in history, especially witches. I just asked if he could find us the house key and he was happy to help.” He looked between BL and Gabriel. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did _you_ get in?”

“Window,” said BL with a sideways glance at Gabriel.

He was bright red, obviously mortified at being caught breaking and entering by one of the freshmen on his own hall. “In any other situation I’d never have agreed to it, of course, but we determined that it was absolutely necessary to get firsthand knowledge of the house layout. We were just told yesterday that there’s an urgent deadline—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anthony waved his free hand. “That’s why we’re here too. We knew the two of you would never agree on anything, but if Ezra and I looked at the house we might be able to come up with a tolerable compromise.”

“And just look what we’ve discovered!” Gabriel began pacing around the room. BL could tell he was anxious to draw attention away from the fact that he’d broken into the house and then hidden in a closet, but he was also genuinely excited. “I’m sure the university didn’t know about this basement, or it would have been mentioned in the call for proposals. We could fit quite a few stacks down here. It might even be big enough that we could leave the whole house for—”

“Oh no, you don’t,” BL interrupted. “No way are you claiming this _miracle_ of a basement. You can have the stupid house for your stupid library. This place was made to be an art studio.”

“It was made to grow pot, actually,” Anthony pointed out, then added before BL could glare at him, “But it’s perfect studio space.”

BL nodded in satisfaction, set their bag down on the floor, and extracted a large pad of drafting paper. “So let’s draw up plans to bring to the Dean on Monday.” They handed a tape measure to Gabriel. “Make yourself useful and get some measurements.”

He grinned and knelt on the floor next to BL. Tucking one end of the tape under their shoe, he stretched it to the top of their head, then peered carefully at the number. “Would you look at that! It says you’re not tall enough to tell me what to do.”

Anthony screeched with laughter while Ezra giggled behind his hands. BL lifted their foot off the tape, planted it on Gabriel’s chest, and shoved. He fell back on his ass. “I may not be tall enough, but I’m violent enough. Get going.”

Still grinning, Gabriel climbed to his feet and beckoned to Ezra. “Here, you hold this end over by the stairs.”

As the historians crossed the room and the artists bent over the paper, Anthony caught BL’s eye. “You two are cute together,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up,” said BL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet search history now includes “secret basement grow room” as well as “how to disarm a security system,” so if the next chapter doesn’t show up it’s probably because I’ve been taken into custody by the FBI.
> 
> As long as I don't get arrested, more kissing is on the way!


	8. So Let’s Dance Take a Chance Understand Me

By the time they’d drawn up the plans to BL’s exacting standards, all four students were famished. Ezra suggested sushi for lunch, so they walked to the Japanese place just off campus. If it seemed altogether too much like a double date, well, no one was tactless enough to mention it.

Anthony did come close, when BL ran out of ginger and filched a piece of Gabriel’s, and Gabriel slid over his plate so they could reach more. Anthony smirked at them both and said, “That took less than twenty-four hours—” but Ezra quickly popped a wasabi-covered slice of tuna in his mouth. The subsequent coughing, sulking, and apologizing saved everyone from the awkwardness of addressing what, exactly, had taken less than twenty-four hours.

For his part, Gabriel had absolutely no idea. Sure, he and BL had aired some messy feelings and kissed in a closet—but that hardly added up to a relationship. He’d watched BL break the law, _again_, and this time he’d been a willing accessory. He’d helped replace the window, holding up the glass as BL pressed the beading back into place, but if anything that had only made him more uncomfortable.

BL didn’t look very comfortable, either. They were kicking their chair like a metronome while folding and refolding the paper wrapper from their chopsticks. They glanced away when Gabriel tried to catch their eye, then scowled at him when he checked the time on his phone.

“Dan asked me to help him with a translation this afternoon,” he explained, neatly stacking the empty plates as he stood up. “And I need to finish that in time to help Mary set up for—”

“We have to get to a thing, too,” Ezra cut in cheerfully, yanking Anthony to his feet.

“We do?” said the taller boy. “A thing?”

“An important thing! Can’t be late, you know. It was lovely to have lunch together. Let’s do it again sometime. See you around!”

Gabriel blessed Ezra with all his heart as the two younger boys dodged out the door, leaving Gabriel alone with BL.

“Very subtle,” BL muttered to the floor. They took a deep breath, looked Gabriel square in the face and said in a rush, “Can you come over to my place. When you’re done with your stuff. I have something to show you.”

If their tone had been even slightly suggestive, Gabriel would have said no. Whatever was going on between them, he did not think the wisest next step was jumping in bed together. (Not that he wouldn’t have been tempted.) But BL sounded—well, if they'd been anyone else, he would have said they sounded shy.

So he said, “Yes.” Then he added, apologetically, “I don’t know when I’ll be—”

“Doesn’t matter.” BL waved a hand. “I’ll be there. Just show up. It’s fine.”

“You’ll have to give me the address.”

“Seriously?” BL raised their eyebrows, all brash confidence again. “You must be the only student on campus who doesn’t know how to find the Den of Iniquity.” They pulled out a pen, grabbed Gabriel’s hand and, before he could protest, scribbled _2123 Kings Street_ just below his knuckles.

Gabriel stared at the writing on his skin. It would wash away with a little soap, so why did he feel irrevocably marked? “You could have just texted me.”

BL dropped the pen in their bag. “Yep. I could have.” They walked off without another word.

***

Night had fallen by the time Gabriel was able to get away from his dorm. The warm spring day had turned chilly, so he’d layered a stylish gray jacket and scarf over a pale pink button-down shirt and dark slacks. He probably would have spent longer deciding what to wear, but he didn’t want to keep BL waiting.

He set a brisk pace as he headed into town, mentally reviewing his to-do list for the evening.

_1\. See what Bee wants to show me._

Obviously, this was of primary importance. From the way BL had acted, Gabriel could only guess they had something quite personal to share. He felt honored by the trust this implied, and he was determined to show acceptance and respect for whatever it was. Even if it involved maggots.

_2\. Finish our conversation from this morning._

There were so many loose ends he hardly knew where to start. He knew BL had been angry with him since freshman year, but he hadn’t realized just how low their opinion of him was. Didn’t they realize that all the while he’d been trying to make amends? And why had they been so determined to break into Tadfield House, when even Anthony and Ezra had been able to find a legimitate way in?

_3\. Kiss more._

Only after they’d had a chance to talk, and only if BL was interested, of course. As for Gabriel, “interested” was a bit of an understatement for how he felt. The heat of BL’s slender body in his arms and the taste of their lips on his had kindled a fire in his belly that was proving difficult to extinguish. To keep things under control, he had decided to set ground rules. All clothes would stay on, and if he and BL couldn’t stick to that, he would leave. Simple.

_4\. Retrieve my travel mug._

He’d forgotten about it until he’d gotten back to his room. He had no objection to BL keeping things of his, but they didn’t seem likely to use the mug. If he was wrong and they did want to use it, then he would happily get himself a new one.

Pleased with his four-step plan, Gabriel stopped in front of 2123 Kings Street. From the outside, the Den of Iniquity didn’t look much different than other residences in the area—a bit rundown, a bit overgrown. Some curious shapes in the yard would probably resolve into sculpture with the light of day, and the door was painted blood red. Gabriel patted his hair, straightened his jacket, and knocked.

“Door’s open, dumbshit!” someone shouted.

Quelling his trepidation, Gabriel stepped into a maelstrom of music, dancing, drinking, and smoking. His gaze skimmed over unfamiliar activities and unfamiliar faces until he saw Ezra, ensconced in an armchair with Anthony splayed across his lap and a wine bottle hanging from his fingers.

“I didn’t know there was a party,” said Gabriel, sounding stupid even to himself.

Anthony scoffed. “It’s Saturday night at the Den, what’d you expect?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I expected to see Bee,” he answered stiffly. “Are they here?”

“Course they’re here.” Anthony pulled out his phone, almost spilling the wine. Ezra steadied it just in time. “I’ll tell them _you’re_ here, and you two can pick up where you left off.”

Feeling his face grow warm, Gabriel reached in his pocket. “Don’t bother, Anthony, I can text them myself.”

“Oh, I’m not texting.” Anthony leered at Gabriel as the techno music that had been blaring from the speakers was abruptly replaced by a new song.

_Uptown girl_  
_She's been living in her uptown world_  
_I bet she's never had a backstreet guy_  
_I bet her mama never told her why_

“Anthony, what the hell is this? Billy fucking Joel?” BL’s shout cut through the crowd as they stomped across the room. They caught sight of Gabriel, who doubted his face could get hotter without actually combusting, and threw Anthony a dirty look. “Oh. You think you’re cute.”

“_I_ think he’s cute,” murmured Ezra, tilting the wine bottle for a careful drink.

Gabriel knew he was staring at BL, but he couldn’t stop. While he’d dressed up for the evening, they’d dressed down, looking more casual than he’d seen them since living in the same dorm. They wore a thin black t-shirt and ripped jeans. Paint streaked their hair and hands. They were barefoot—had it really been two years since Gabriel had seen their feet? Why did that seem momentous? They were just feet, albeit very cute feet.

Although he could no more tear his eyes away from BL than he could have deliberately skipped class, Gabriel was keenly aware that everyone else in the room was staring at him. It sounded like about half the room was also yelling at him.

“Are you lost, lamb?” This from a scorn-faced girl with a ponytail and sharp teeth. “Need directions to the country club?”

“What’s _Gabriel_ doing here?” That was Hass. “Throw him out, BL! Or want me to do it?”

“Tear his fancy clothes off!” Gabriel couldn’t tell who was responsible for that, or for the even less polite jeers and threats that rang in his ears.

He wasn’t going to leave, not if BL wanted him here. But he did, unconsciously, take a small step backwards.

This tiny trigger catapulted BL into motion. They leaped forward like the strike of a mantis shrimp, threw their arms around Gabriel’s neck and pressed their lips to his.

The kiss was somehow both chaste and ferocious. BL’s mouth was closed, their lips dry, but the pressure felt like it might melt their faces together. Their arms were dragging Gabriel’s head down at an awkward angle, so it seemed natural for him to lift them up, even if that meant grasping a part of their body he’d never touched before.

BL didn’t seem to mind his hands on their ass. They wrapped their legs around his waist and kept right on kissing. The initial stunned silence this created throughout the room gave way to hoots and catcalls, which brought Gabriel back to reality. He mumbled against BL’s mouth, “Didn’t you have something to show me?”

“Yeah.” They swallowed. “Upstairs.” He started to loosen his grip, but they tightened theirs, so his only option was to carry them across the room. Navigating a crowded room and a staircase with an armful of art student required a good deal of concentration, which happily prevented him from having to meet anyone’s eyes.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, the music was quieter and no one was watching. BL finally slid out of Gabriel’s arms. This would have been a disappointment, except he was starting to sweat and really needed to take off his scarf and jacket.

BL pointed to one of the doors as Gabriel shucked his outer layers. “Go on in.” To his surprise, they took the scarf and jacket. “I’ll hang these up.”

So Gabriel stepped inside the room and looked around, while BL closed the door and placed his things carefully on a hook. The room had bare-bulb lighting, a narrow bed against one wall, and an old metal desk jammed between the bed and the other wall—but honestly, it was hard to notice anything but the eyes. Hundreds and hundreds of eyes.

The eyes were painted on canvases large and small, leaning against the walls, the desk, the closet. They were painted in dark palettes and in light palettes, in black and white and in vivid clashing colors. Looking more closely, Gabriel found in almost every painting a sweep and arch of feathered wings behind the eyes. In some places there were hints of noses, cheeks, foreheads, a whisper of a mouth. They all belonged to the same face as the eyes.

Gabriel had looked in a mirror enough times to know whose face it was.

He turned to BL, who sat very still on the edge of the bed, with none of the nervous movement from the restaurant. Now their tension was all concentrated in the line of their jaw and the furrow of their brow as their eyes flicked between the paintings and Gabriel.

“Bee,” he said quietly. “These are—incredible. I—I don’t know what to say.” But he turned back to the paintings, needing to say more, to describe the awe he felt. “This one, these colors are like the very end of a sunset, with the stars just coming out, more real than I’ve ever seen it. And this one, with all the lines so sharp, these eyes look like knives, like they’d look at you just to cut you—oh Bee, they’re all so beautiful.” He gave BL a tentative smile. “They are my eyes, aren’t they? Is it vain of me to think they’re beautiful?”

“Vain as hell. Gonna paint you as a fucking peacock next.”

He laughed and sank down on the bed beside them. “Is that what the wings are about?”

“No.” BL’s gaze roamed the room. “I started painting your eyes because they wouldn’t leave me alone. When I had a whole canvas full of eyes, the first one, it reminded me of something I read about angels, that they’re nothing but eyes and wings. Not like Raphael’s cherubs at all—more like eldricht horrors. So I went with it.”

“_And they had each of them six wings about him; and they were full of eyes within,_” quoted Gabriel. He cocked an eyebrow at BL. “So I’m an angel, but the monster kind instead of the nice kind?”

They shrugged. “Weren’t we just saying this morning that you’re not actually nice?”

“_You_ were saying that.” Gabriel shook his head, then softened his voice to ask a question he knew the answer to. “You haven’t shown these to anyone else?”

BL’s head jerked side to side.

“Why not?”

BL waved impatiently to the room. “They’re not finished. They’re just studies, I’m not happy with any of them . . .” They looked up at Gabriel’s expectant face and sighed. “They’re too personal. I was going to wait until I was over you.”

“Over me?” Inasmuch as Gabriel had imagined there was anything to get over, he would have guessed that BL was _over him_ as soon as he got them in trouble with the Dean. But today was casting a new light on the past two years, and he was beginning to realize that BL’s bright and abiding anger hadn’t erased their other emotions.

“You’re a moron,” said BL bluntly, as though they could read his mind. Maybe it wasn’t so hard. They gestured to the paintings again. “Anyway, people might ask if I used a model. They might even recognize you. I didn't want to show them until I could just brush that off. Or—yeah.”

“Or?” said Gabriel.

BL looked down at their hands and muttered, “Or until we were together.”

“Together?”

“So if anyone asked, I could say yeah, those are my lover’s eyes.” BL’s hands migrated to cover their face, which had gone scarlet.

Gabriel felt a bit pink himself. “Lover?”

“I don’t like _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend_, stupid gendered language, doesn’t work for me, I’d feel weird using it for you. I thought, if we were ever in a relationship, we’d be lovers.” They threw their hands back in their lap and glared at him. “Jesus, Gabriel, can you talk, not just repeat my words like an idiot?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” he said, his head spinning. He felt like there was altogether too much going on here, and at the same time, it seemed so straightforward. “Um. What about partners?”

BL snorted. “Makes us sound like a law firm.”

“Can’t have that, not until I get my JD,” teased Gabriel. “Lovers it is, then.” 

How had they gotten here, to the point of choosing a word to describe themselves? He couldn’t figure it out, but maybe it didn’t matter. The prospect of being BL’s lover was infinitely appealing, especially when they were gazing up at him with the thinnest veil of annoyance over an inferno of desire.

Gabriel turned so he could cup BL’s face in his hands. He tucked some loose strands of hair behind their ear and rubbed his thumb over a smear of paint on their chin.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered.

“You’re full of shit,” BL whispered back, pupils dilating and tongue darting out to wet their lips.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GABRIEL YOU FORGOT STEP TWO
> 
> Fun fact: the mantis shrimp is the fastest animal on the planet (except maybe the trap-jaw ant).
> 
> Chapter title from Bang a Gong by T Rex, because yeah.


	9. All the Love You Can Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I ref The Sound of Music again? Yes I did and I’m not even sorry.
> 
> Heads up, this chapter contains a smattering of smut, not super graphic though.

Their first kiss had been desperate. In the closet under the basement stairs, BL had kissed Gabriel for two reasons: to shut him up, and because they couldn’t survive any longer without kissing him.

Their second kiss had been performative. In the living room with all eyes on them, BL had kissed Gabriel to say: _this one’s mine, leave him alone._

Their third kiss was something new.

For one thing, Gabriel initiated it. He kissed the left corner of BL’s mouth, then the right, then the center. His tongue flicked out, then retreated. BL would have called it timid, except for the way his fingers twined into their hair and tilted their head just so. He pressed one tender kiss after another to their lips, as though each were the first.

Growing impatient, BL turned and straddled one of Gabriel’s legs, pushing their thigh up between his. Their hands traced his muscles through his shirt, shoulders to stomach. They heard the breath catch in his throat and felt the stir of his arousal, but still he only cradled their head and kissed them sweetly.

BL pulled back to demand, “Why aren’t you touching me?”

Gabriel’s answer was quick and ridiculously earnest. “I don’t want to do it wrong,” he said. “It’s your body. Tell me where I should touch you. Tell me what feels good.”

BL was willing to bet he had been reading up on gender dysphoria. They didn’t know whether to bless him or damn him. “Gabriel, I have been waiting two years for this.” They grabbed his face and kissed him hard. “Ask again. Ask every time. But right now there is literally nowhere I don’t want you to touch me.”

In BL’s experience, given carte blanche, the average college student could turn a make-out session into a mess of greedy hands and sweaty limbs faster than the dining hall could run out of dessert. Gabriel, however, took the opportunity to nudge his tongue into BL’s mouth while tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of their arms.

_Are you fucking kidding me_, thought BL. Not that their previous experiences had all been rushed or rough, but no one had ever taken so much care with them before. It intensified every sensation. Gabriel's touch on their arms sent shivers through their whole body, and when he nibbled on their lower lip, they could barely hold back a moan.

BL needed to move this along. Grinding down on Gabriel’s thigh, they reached for the buttons of his shirt.

He covered their hands, holding them against his chest. “Bee, you’re shaking.”

“Maybe, so what?” BL’s fingers squirmed, trying to work a button loose.

“So we don’t have to do this.” Gabriel drew back to look at them. His cheeks were flushed with desire, but his expression was all concern.

“I want to do this. I want to—” Oh fuck, why were their eyes all hot and prickly? They couldn’t take one more second of looking directly at Gabriel, but he was still holding their hands. The only escape was to lean forward and hide in his shoulder.

His arms slid around them at once. “Bee, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” they mumbled, in an agony of frustration and embarrassment. “’S not like I’m a virgin.”

“I am,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Well, I figured.” BL took a shaky breath, still speaking to Gabriel’s shoulder. “That’s kinda my point. You should be the one who—”

“Have you ever had a lover before?”

Crushes, hookups, friends with benefits, sure. Lovers? “No.”

“So this is new for you.” Gabriel sounded altogether too reasonable. “Hey, I know. Let’s go for a walk.”

BL raised their head, aiming to save themselves with sarcasm. “Got a better place to fuck?”

“No! I don’t—” He bit his lip. “I don’t want to _fuck_, Bee.”

BL was still close enough to feel his body’s reaction to the dirty word. They grinned and rubbed against him. “Gabriel, I think you just told a _lie_.”

Blushing bright red, he pushed them off his lap and stood up. “Okay, maybe I do, but not tonight. Not for a while.” He took their hands in his. “Right now I just want to make love to you.”

BL gave him a scathing look. “Is this lawyering? Are you being a lawyer right now?”

“I’m being an historian! You know, making love used to mean courting someone, paying attention to them. That’s what I want to do.” He reached for his jacket and scarf. “Come on, let’s get some air.”

“All right, fine,” grumbled BL. They were craving action, practically buzzing with pent-up energy, and although walking wasn’t the action they’d had in mind, it would have to do.

BL shifted a couple of eye-covered canvases in order to reach their closet, and Gabriel smiled. “Anyway, it’s a little creepy in here. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.”

“Not much for exhibitionism?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “They’re my eyes. Would that be exhibitionism or voyeurism?”

“Best of both worlds.” As casually as possible, BL pulled on an article of clothing they knew Gabriel hadn’t seen since freshman year. His expression grew as soft as the sweater itself. 

BL growled in warning before he could say something sappy. “If we’re going for a goddamn walk like old people, then let’s _go_.”

Downstairs, the party had expanded from music and dancing to include a couple of the Den’s ruder board games. One involved alcohol; the other involved copious amounts of alcohol. Some people might have been able to slip through the chaos unnoticed, but Gabriel was not one of those people.

Levi, lounging on a beanbag chair as he wielded the spinner for one of the games, caught sight of him first. “That was fast!” he jeered. “You’ll have to build up your endurance if you want BL to keep you around. Or did you come down for supplies? Condoms and lube in the silverware drawer!”

Gabriel’s blush, which had faded since the upstairs discussion of fucking, returned with all the prompt enthusiasm of a kid showing up to a birthday party, and even brought its friend, the incoherent stammer.

BL scowled. They were the only one who was allowed to make Gabriel that uncomfortable. Pushing past him, they kicked one foot into the beanbag next to Levi’s head and leaned down. “Say another word about what I do or don’t do with Gabriel, and you will _regret it_.”

Levi’s smile slipped. He’d never gotten on BL’s bad side before, but he’d heard the stories. “Okay, boss."

Satisfied, BL straightened up and offered their hand to Gabriel. He took it, allowing BL to lead him across the room and out the front door.

Once they stood in relative quiet on the sidewalk, BL took a deep breath of cool night air, concentrating on the warmth and pressure of Gabriel’s fingers twined with theirs. They could do this. It was fine. No big deal.

Then BL let out the breath in an annoyed huff. What the hell was wrong with them, that going for a walk with Gabriel was more intimidating than taking him to bed?

“Okay, Bee?” Gabriel tugged their hand gently. They nodded, and he started to walk, setting a course toward campus. They’d assumed he would want to talk—Gabriel was _such_ a talker—but he was silent for several minutes before clearing his throat. “Sorry, but I have to ask. Why are there condoms in the silverware drawer?”

“Because it’s funny,” BL answered. They looked up and saw Gabriel put on the annoyingly patient expression that meant he was waiting for a real answer. They sighed. “And because I made house rules, okay? One of which is that sex in the Den has to be consensual and safe. So we keep condoms where anyone can get them. No excuses.”

BL had expected Gabriel to look embarrassed or judgmental. They didn’t expect him to light up like a five-thousand-lumen energy-efficient LED bulb. “That’s wonderful! That’s so responsible! Bee, you’re like the Den’s RA. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Oh fuck off.” This would probably have come out stronger if BL hadn’t still been holding Gabriel’s hand, but they weren’t about to let go just because he was an overreacting bitch.

Gabriel brought them to a plain brick building next to a campus parking lot that BL had walked past countless times without noticing. He entered a door code and stepped inside, flicking on the light to reveal a hallway so generic it could have belonged to any building on any college campus.

BL followed him down the hall to an elevator. He pressed the button and grinned at them. “House rules, eh?”

“Don’t go reading too much into it,” they growled. “It doesn't mean I've suddenly turned into a good little law-abiding citizen.”

“That does seem unlikely,” Gabriel agreed.

BL narrowed their eyes and pressed on. “Just being who I am breaks all kinds of rules—you know that, right? Like who’s supposed to use which bathroom, who’s allowed to compete in which sports . . .”

“Those aren't good rules,” said Gabriel, frowning. “I want to change them. That’s part of why I want to be a lawyer, to make rules more fair.”

“Yeah. All right. Good for you.” BL folded their arms. “But I’m _never_ going to follow a rule just because it’s a rule. And there are plenty of rules I will _break_ just because they’re rules.”

Beneath the belligerence, they knew they were pleading. _You said you couldn’t handle it. But can’t you try? For me?_

Gabriel nodded slowly. “I know, Bee. And . . . I think it’s one of the things I love about you.”

The elevator arrived with a ding and Gabriel ushered them inside. BL’s eyes tracked his fingers tapping in another code, but their brain had gone rather suddenly offline. Apparently they hadn’t been prepared for Gabriel to use the L-word. _You utter moron, he didn’t say he loves you, just that he loves things _about_ you. He probably loves things about most people he knows. Also you picked a name for this relationship that is literally a conjugate of the word “love.” So why the hell are you freaking out?_

“Bee?” Gabriel touched their shoulder, looking expectant.

BL swallowed. “Uh, did you ask me something?”

“I said, is that why you wanted to break into Tadfield House? Breaking rules just because they’re rules?”

BL winced. Gabriel’s expression was veering close to the hurt look he’d given them outside the house. “Not that time. I’d rather have found a key, honestly, but I had no idea how. And I was in a hurry, and I _did_ know how to break in.”

“We were both in a hurry, but—”

“For me it was more than the deadline. Lucier’s really been pushing me to get Tadfield House for the art department. I couldn’t—I can’t let him down. He’s the only professor who’ll ever stick up for me.” They looked down and saw their fingers worrying at the hem of the sweater. They hadn't planned to talk about this, hadn't wanted to even _think_ about it for the rest of the weekend, but Gabriel's stupid emotional sincerity had cracked them open and words were spilling out. “That basement really is ideal for art studios, but . . . what if Lucier doesn't think so? What if he thinks I gave up the house to you? What if he thinks I _lost_?”

Another ding, and the elevator doors parted. Gabriel put out his hand to keep them open, but stayed where he was, focused on BL. “We came up with the perfect solution this morning,” he said positively. “If Lucier doesn’t see it that way, forget him.”

That was a nice idea, but Gabriel wasn't the one who'd antagonized every other authority figure on campus. BL might have tried to explain, but the open doors offered a reprieve from conversation. They walked out, and found themselves on the rooftop.

This wasn’t the tallest building on campus, but it certainly had a view. BL could see the pinprick headlights of cars on a distant freeway, and the dark shapes of hills on the far side of campus. A gibbous moon glowed brightly enough to cast shadows, while stars flickered in and out of view behind the clouds.

BL eyed Gabriel. “So why do you have the codes to get up here?”

He walked over to a set of instruments mounted on a tripod near the center of the roof. “Remember my old roommate Marut?”

“’Course.”

“Last year I helped him install this weather station for one of his research projects. He inspects the gauges and clears out debris every couple months, and sometimes I lend a hand.” He tapped one of the contraption’s metal rods. “We joke that someday we’ll call down lightning with this thing.”

“Mm-hmm. And how often do you bring someone up here to suck face?”

“Wha—never! And that’s not why I brought you here, either. I just thought you’d like it. If you don’t we can leave.” He sounded sulky, which was a pure delight.

“I like it, I like it,” said BL. “But what if Marut’s on the other side of the bunker, suck—”

“_Please_ don’t use that expression.” Gabriel grimaced.

“All right, you squeamish prude, what if he’s _kissing_ someone?”

“I think we’d have heard them. But we can walk around and look.”

They strolled in a leisurely circuit of the roof, and found they were indeed alone. BL had a few ideas about how to proceed with that information, but when they cast an appraising eye over Gabriel, he looked too worried for those ideas to make much headway. BL sighed. “What is it?”

“It’s just . . . I'm still thinking about Professor Lucier. He shouldn’t be pushing you like that.”

BL shrugged, their gaze drifting out over the well-lit paths of the campus. “It’s all right. At least he’s on my side. Most of the faculty hate me. The Dean hates me.”

“That’s not true,” exclaimed Gabriel. “She _likes_ you. Didn’t you notice that she’s been treating you and me exactly the same? She met with us together and sent us off to talk together. She e-mailed us about the appropriation at the same time.”

“She was just being fair, she _has_ to—”

“No, she doesn’t. Think about it, Bee. If she really hated you, she could have rejected your proposal right off. She could have said you were ineligible because you’ve got community service outstanding.”

BL was both impressed and offended. “What makes you think I haven’t—”

“I know you, Bee.” He shook his head. “But the Dean gave you the same chance she gave me.”

“Fine. What’s your point?”

“You don’t have to be afraid. Lucier’s not your only ally on campus.” Gabriel’s moonlit face was as fierce as BL had ever seen. “If he pushes you to do things you don’t want to do, then fuck him.”

BL blinked in surprise at Gabriel’s language, at the rage he’d mustered on their behalf. It was incredibly sweet. 

And incredibly _hot_. 

They grabbed two handfuls of his jacket and walked him back until he hit the outside wall of the elevator room. Without missing a beat, he slid down to minimize their height difference, legs stretched out with BL standing between them.

This time they both leaned in to kiss, and it was electric. Their lips locked hungrily, tongues meeting, teeth teasing. Gabriel slid his hands from BL’s shoulder blades down to the small of their back, then lower still. BL yanked his jacket open to press fingertips into his chest, to graze nails over his stomach.

He moved to kiss their throat, his breath warming their collarbone. BL whimpered and clung to his hips. “How are you so good at this?”

“I don't think I am.” He dared to sound amused. “I think it’s just that you and I were meant for each other.”

BL groaned. “Touch me, Gabriel, I _need_ you to touch me.”

His amusement heightened as he tightened his grip on their ass. “Is that not what I’m doing?”

“You know what I mean.” They were almost whining now, too eager to care. “You’re not that innocent, you have to know what I mean.”

Gabriel relented. “I do know, but I’ve never done it.” He turned them around in his arms, their back against his chest, and rested his hands on their belly. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how.”

BL pushed one of Gabriel’s hands up under their shirt while they unbuttoned their jeans. They were shaking again, but this time Gabriel didn’t put on the brakes. He licked around their ear while his fingers roamed across their chest. BL’s eyes had lost their focus; the stars seemed to be spinning. It was already too much, and they needed so much more.

“Like this,” they said, guiding his other hand to the slick heat that had been building all day between their thighs. His teeth closed on their ear—gently, he was still so careful—as BL moved his fingers, first to revel in the sensations, and then with more purpose. Their free hand clutched at his thigh and their back arched. Wordless sounds escaped their throat.

“I’ve dreamed about you in this sweater, you know.” Gabriel’s hands did maddening things to their body as his whispers filled their ears. “You'd climb through my window and into my bed, wearing the sweater and nothing else. Sometimes you'd lie on top of me and wake me up with kisses. Sometimes I'd flip you onto your back, and you'd spread your legs for me like this—”

“Gabriel, please, oh God,” BL gasped. Pleasure slammed through their body like a wrecking ball. “Oh _fuck_!”

“So beautiful, Bee. All that you are is so beautiful,” he murmured, holding BL while they panted and sweated and shuddered their way back to solid ground.

BL closed their eyes, feeling the twin throb of their own heart in their chest and Gabriel's against their back. “That was—” They fumbled, lost for words. “Well, you can tell Marut you called down the lightning.” They were still too breathless for it to sound like the joke it surely should have been.

Gabriel nuzzled the side of their neck. “High praise, when you did most of the work.”

“You’re a quick learner.” They fastened their jeans with clumsy fingers, then turned to face him, reaching for the obvious bulge in his pants. “Let me return the favor.”

“Not now.” He pulled their hand away, his fingers still slippery. “I don’t want that yet.”

“But I can—I mean, don’t you—”

“Wait. Please wait.” Gabriel’s gorgeous eyes held a hint of anxiety.

“Of course I’ll wait,” said BL, immediately backing off. “As long as you like.” They watched his anxiety melt into adoration, and their heart felt so full it might leak out their eyes.

But they had to be a _little_ wicked, so they lifted Gabriel’s hand to their mouth and slowly closed their lips around his middle finger. Keeping eye contact, they licked and sucked each digit clean, then leaned forward and whispered, “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Bee,” groaned Gabriel, somewhere between plea and rebuke. Then he gave a weak laugh. “You know, before I came to the Den, I promised myself that we would keep our clothes on.”

“And look at that,” said BL. “We did.”

“_Litera legis_,” agreed Gabriel wryly. He pushed away from the wall and took BL’s hand. “Come on, lover. Let me walk you home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bee and Gabe are still not the world’s best communicators, but I think we can be proud of how far they’ve come!
> 
> There’s gonna be an epilogue because I can’t leave these dorks quite yet. <3


	10. They Are New Every Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it was time for a break from song lyrics, so this title is from Lamentations 3:23. ;) Minor edits have been made to previous chapters.

ONE MONTH LATER

Tadfield House could hardly have looked more different. The doors and windows were flung wide open and the floor was a mess of drop cloths, paint pans and rollers. Music blasted from a jury-rigged sound system.

Professionals had already squared away the few real fixes the house required. A construction crew had added an outside entrance to the basement for safety and accessibility. Now the students were taking care of everything else.

When BL and Gabriel had met with the Dean, she’d exhibited mild surprise at their revelation of the basement. She’d approved their plan to split the building between library and studio space, on the condition that BL apply their community service hours to the renovation. They agreed without much grace.

Later, they grudgingly admitted to Gabriel that it would be an interesting project—and they were definitely going to enjoy picking paint colors. This quickly devolved into an argument about what colors were and were not appropriate for the walls of a library, which devolved even further into heated kissing. They decided to revisit the topic often.

BL hadn’t bothered to tell Lucier about the new plan in person. Encouraged by Gabriel’s insistence that it was the obvious solution and no one could possibly object to it, they’d sent him a breezy e-mail:

_Professor Lucier, I found a giant basement under Tadfield House that’s even better for studios. It’s ours now. I’ll be supervising renovation over spring and summer. Thanks for your support. - BL_

Lucier, in the grand tradition of busy professors everywhere, had sent back an even breezier one:

_sounds fine - L_

So now BL was heading up a work crew tasked with scrubbing, painting, and any other unskilled labor they could find for themselves. The group included quite a few art and history students with a vested interest in the place, like Anthony and Ezra, as well as a handful of others working off community service they’d earned for various transgressions. This subgroup referred to themselves as the Chain Gang, and BL was very fond of them.

“The fuck d'you think you’re doing?” BL snarled at a member of the Chain Gang who was sneaking a smoke behind the bushes. “After this room is finished, I’ll roll you a joint myself. But you can’t paint for shit when you’re high.”

The kid, who’d been cursed by his parents with the name Warlock, stubbed it out and offered BL an apologetic smile. “I thought it was supposed to rain today, anyway?”

“Yeah, well, as soon as the storm hits we’ll close up and go home.” BL scowled up at the blue and gray patchwork sky. They didn’t want rain coming in open windows, and no one should be stuck in a house with fresh paint and closed windows. “But until then, your ass is mine. Back to work.”

BL made sure that Warlock got a roller in his hands and knew how to use it, then turned to yell at Anthony. “We’ve been listening to the same shit all morning! Change it up a bit, yeah?”

“Sure, sure, sorry,” he said, stifling a yawn. He wiped his hands on his black skinny jeans, adjusted his sunglasses, and pulled out his phone.

BL was cracking open a new paint can to refill the trays when an unexpected chorus erupted from the speakers.

_Hallelujah!_  
_Hallelujah!_

They looked up in disgust. “The Messiah, Anthony, really?”

“Seemed appropriate.” Anthony grinned and pointed. “Our coffee angels have arrived.”

Gabriel and Ezra stood in the doorway, haloed by the eerie pre-storm light. They made quite a pair—one tall and dark, the other short and pale, both far too neatly dressed to step within a mile of all this paint. 

Anthony gazed at his beloved with the same stars he’d had in his eyes when BL had first listened to him moon over Ezra back in fall quarter. BL wouldn’t be caught dead giving Gabriel that kind of look, but the way their lip curled at his approach was not as scornful as they’d have liked to believe.

“Your coffee, my prince,” said Gabriel, bowing and offering BL their travel mug. It had once been Gabriel’s mug, but BL had elected to keep it and make Gabriel buy himself a new one. Now they sipped tea and coffee from matching mugs and BL was prepared to strangle anyone who called it cute.

Gabriel set down his shiny new briefcase—swag from the law office where he’d scored a fully-paid internship. A butterfly pin graced the outer pocket, bright purple against black leather. “I’m headed to a meeting,” he said. “But I can stay for a few minutes.”

BL rolled their eyes. “Did I ask you to?”

He smiled indulgently. “You know, we’ve been together for a month today?”

It had been a good month, though not without rough spots. BL’s housemates still called Gabriel “Uptown Girl,” and although he took it philosophically, he'd been hesitant to spend much time in the Den of Iniquity. He liked BL’s studio better, but it was crowded and his long limbs tended to knock things over. For their part, BL didn’t love hanging out in Gabriel’s dorm. It was fun to shock all the freshmen who'd never in a million years expected their clean-cut RA to date a foul-mouthed artist in fishnets, but Gabriel was usually distracted by some duty or perceived obligation. So they'd taken to meeting in neutral territory around campus or town.

“Yeah, a month,” said BL with feigned nonchalance. “So?”

“It just reminded me that we met with the Dean at the beginning of April. April first, right? April Fools’ Day. And I started thinking maybe that wasn’t a coincidence.”

BL stared at him. “Did you only _just_ realize that?”

“Uh. Yes?” said Gabriel. “Did you . . . before?”

“When the Dean first told me the deadline, I was sure she was playing around, but then I figured she didn’t have the sense of humor for it.” BL sighed. “So I forgot about it until after we presented the new proposal. I don’t think you heard her, but when I was rolling the plans back up, she said, ‘That went even better than I hoped.’ And she fucking _winked_ at me.”

“Then . . . do you think she made up the whole faculty appropriation attempt?” Gabriel was struggling to wrap his mind around this degree of deception from a trusted authority.

“Yep.”

“What a b—” Coming back to himself, Gabriel shut his mouth on the word.

BL lit up with wicked glee. “Yes? What were you going to call the Dean? Please Gabriel, _please_ say it.”

“Oh, fine.” He sighed. “But only because I like the way you beg.”

Their mouth fell open. “I never—”

“You just did. It was irresistible. ‘Please, Gabriel, please,’” he imitated.

BL reached up to grab his collar and wrench it tight. “If anyone heard that, I will fucking end you.”

“Oh, go on and threaten me,” he drawled. “I like that too.”

BL bared their teeth and Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. The Dean’s a bitch. Happy?”

BL grunted, still more annoyed than satisfied, and let him go. “When you brought up our anniversary, would you believe I actually thought you were going to say something _nice_?”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know _why_,” they snapped. “But _I_ was planning to tell you I love you.”

It was wholly appropriate that the first utterance of these three words between the two of them was attended by cold glare from BL and a luminous smile from Gabriel. 

“Really? You _love_ me?”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” they snarled. “It’s no fucking feather in my cap, to be in love with a blithering idiot.”

“Oh, Bee, I love you too! Happy anniversary!” He picked them up and swung them around in a giddy circle. “I even have an idea for how we can celebrate!”

“If it’s anything sentimental, feel free to shove it up your ass.”

“It isn’t,” he said, setting them down with a kiss to the forehead. “I thought we could break a rule. I know you like that.”

BL looked at him suspiciously. “Any rule in particular?”

“Yes. One of yours.”

* * *

BL was flying. With Gabriel’s hand in theirs, they soared and spun and looped through the sky on wings as wide as sails. Above and all around them, a great dome of stained glass cast colored light across the clouds and the earth below. Laughing, BL and Gabriel chased each other through yellows and purples, reds and greens and blues.

Then they weren’t laughing anymore, but shouting at each other, hurling clouds and stars and cruel words. BL felt absolutely furious with no idea why. They wanted to tear Gabriel apart, and they were just lunging forward to get started when lightning struck their wings and they tumbled toward earth in a rain of shattered glass.

“Bee!” screamed Gabriel. He might have tried to catch them, but they were falling too fast, and within moments Gabriel was just another shape in the geometric sky. BL was going to hit the ground—no, they were falling right through, burning like a meteor, melting dirt and stone around them.

Eventually their fall slowed to a crawl. BL dragged themselves over lava and rock, losing skin and spitting blood. Friends gathered around, all equally ruined. Hass was a skeleton filled with maggots. Dagon was a monster constructed of teeth. Professor Lucier sat in a desk chair, skin red as paint, and nodded to BL. “He tried to kill you, darling. Go and destroy him.”

BL reached into the rock overhead and clawed their way back to the surface. Gabriel waited there in the pouring rain, wearing chain mail and holding a sword, a strange violet light in his eyes. He looked calm and distant, which made BL even angrier than before. They pulled out their own sword, then another one for good measure, and moved in to attack.

Maybe the armor made Gabriel slow, or maybe he was no good at fighting, but he blocked only a few strikes before BL landed a blow to his side that cut right through the metal. He stumbled and dropped his sword. BL drove their other blade into his chest. Gabriel’s eyes closed, shutting off that creepy glow, and BL’s rage abruptly turned to terror.

“Gabriel!” They reached for him as he swayed and fell forward. Their feet slipped on the wet ground, and they went down hard with Gabriel on top of them.

“Get up!” Shoving uselessly at his shoulders, BL realized they were crying. “Get off me, you stupid lump!”

With the next shove they blinked very hard, and their eyes opened to their own bed. A heavy spring rain drummed on the roof and window, desaturating the morning light. Gabriel lay half draped over them, one arm and one leg pinning their body to the mattress. His breath ruffled their hair.

BL’s heart was racing and their cheeks were wet. Mortified, they tried to extricate themselves from Gabriel’s sleep embrace, but his eyes cracked open as soon as they moved. 

“Bee, are you okay?” He brought his hand to their face, wiping away the tears before they could do it.

“Bad dream,” they mumbled, swallowing the ache. Gabriel’s eyes were warm and kind, without a trace of the hard light they'd imagined there. He was alive. He was here. He loved them. The explosive affection BL felt in return was both familiar and somehow entirely new.

BL traced the line of Gabriel’s jaw, noting the sandpaper stubble. They brushed some crust from the corner of his eye, ran their fingers through his bed-ruined hair. “_Oh_,” they said in wonder, discovering what made the feeling new.

The little knot of anger they’d nursed for the last two years was gone, as though excised by a sword. There was nothing left but love.

A few more tears leaked out, and for once Gabriel was wise enough not to speak. Instead, he pulled BL close and kissed them.

Quite a while later, they took a break to lie back and listen to the rain. “I’m not looking forward to going downstairs,” confessed BL. “Everyone's going to give me hell for letting you sleep over.”

“Well, that’s easy to avoid.” Gabriel grinned. “Let’s stay in bed all day.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had so much fun writing this, and I’m so grateful for every reader. Your kudos and comments fill my bucket like you wouldn’t believe!
> 
> The fic’s title, by the way, is a paraphrase of Adam’s words to Beelzebub and the Metatron in the book: “Even if you win, you can’t really beat the other side, because you don’t really want to.”
> 
> <3


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